


On the Outside

by inspired66



Series: Franky and Bridget [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspired66/pseuds/inspired66
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franky and Bridget try to mesh their lives together while Franky adjusts to life on the outside. This is a sequel to 'New Life.'<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Consideration

No one talked about class in Australia, but it was there. Franky hadn’t really noticed it before, but now she was out of prison, and with Bridget, she noticed it at every turn. It was there in accents, the words people used for things, the easy assumptions that some people made. It wasn’t about how much money you had, but of course, money made it all easier. There were a whole lot of things the comfortable middle class gave their children without thinking. Franky, from a deprived background had none of the easy assumptions. She didn’t know the rules. Everything she knew or could do she’d taught herself. She could swim, but not properly enough to be able to swim laps or be confident in the surf. She couldn’t ski or hit a tennis ball over a net. She’d never been given music lessons or coached properly in a team sport. She’d left school at 16 and had not had the experience of living a hedonistic life at Uni. She’d never travelled.

Bridget knew all the rules; she had the keys. As Franky became more and more aware of how things worked in the new world she found herself in, she realised that Bridget didn’t even know that she had the keys and others didn’t. Although she worked with disadvantaged women she couldn’t really know what it was like for those who didn’t grow up in a loving, supportive and financially comfortable family. Not that she ever held it over Franky but there were so many differences between them. Bridget had never been hit or abused, physically or mentally. She’d never physically hurt anyone. She didn’t know the world where people went out of their way to hurt or humiliate you. Franky knew that world, both in prison and before she went in. She knew what it was like to have to look after yourself with no support and with people actively treating you as a second class citizen. If anything happened to Bridget she had a host of family, friends and professional contacts to call on. Franky had no-one, though she was starting to get used to the idea that she now had Bridget.

As Franky got to know her better she began to understand where Bridget’s sexy confidence came from. Bridget expected things to turn out right; Franky always feared they wouldn’t.

Adjusting to life outside had its irritations and disappointments. While inside she loved her law subjects; they were one of the few interesting things she did in a very boring place. However, outside, she found that there were so many distractions and hitting the books didn’t have the same appeal. She would much prefer to be with Bridget, cuddling on the couch, making love, talking. Anything really, than studying.

She and Bridget had now been back together for a couple of months and Franky was into the second week of her course. She was doing two subjects, Contracts and Jurisprudence. In prison of course, it was all done online. Now she attended tutorials and lectures. She’d done the reading for her Contracts tutorial for the next day but found that it didn’t seem to get into her head. She gave up and pounced on Bridget on the couch. Bridget was more than happy to be distracted from her book and they grappled on the couch and then took the second round into the bedroom. Franky couldn’t get enough of Bridget physically; having this beautiful woman that she could now touch was intoxicating and she took advantage of every opportunity.

Each of the tutorials that Franky attended had about 15 students in them who all looked as if they were around twenty years old. Their easy grace and casual intelligence intimidated Franky though she had a hard time admitting this, even to herself. They all seemed to know each other and conversations before the tutes began revealed to Franky how apart from this world she was. The topic of the tutorial was “Contract formation.” The tutor was a young woman of about Franky’s age. She wrote on the whiteboard, “Consideration." 

“This is the core concept of contract formation. In order to understand if a contract has been formed you need to ask, 'Where is the consideration?' What’s a commonly used term used to describe this?” She looked around the class.

A girl with her hair in a blonde ponytail shot back, “The price of a promise.”

The tutor smiled, “Yes. Does everyone get that concept?”

They all murmured their assent. Franky started to feel nervous. She remembered reading about consideration last night, but what the fuck did it actually mean?

The tutor continued, “In common law, in order for an agreement to be binding the promisee must provide payment of some kind. Does it have to be monetary?” She looked down the list of names on her desk. “Mr Taylor?”

A tall skinny guy in black jeans answered, “No, it doesn’t, but there has to be some detriment to the promisee.”

“Good. Now, I’ll give a few examples of possible contracts and then we’ll look in depth at the Carlill and the Carbolic Smoke Ball case.” She looked down the list of names on her desk again. “Ms Doyle, if I promise to pay you money provided you act respectably and virtuously, is that a valid contract?”

Franky felt a flash of both anger and confusion. Was this some personal slight? Did the tutor know her history? She blushed and guessed at an answer. “Ahh, no.”

The tutor looked around the room, “Anyone else have a view on that.”

“Yes, you can.” It was the girl with the ponytail again.

“And the case Ms Browning?”

“Umm” she looked down at the notes, “Was it Dunton?”

“Yes, though I can’t imagine that being the grounds of a maintenance payment to a wife nowadays.” The class laughed. “The judge found in that case that the wife’s surrender of her liberty to act respectably was good consideration.”

A small serious looking boy piped up with, “It’s pretty subjective though. What constitutes respectable behaviour? Would taking a boyfriend be respectable?”

“Or a girlfriend,” someone muttered. The class laughed. Franky seethed.

“It’s up to the judge to decide what would constitute respectable behaviour. Can anyone tell me what standard they would apply?” She looked around the room. Franky avoided her eye. No one answered. “It would be the standard of a reasonable person. Obviously that standard would be different today compared to when Dunton was decided in the late 19th century.”

Franky left the tute feeling at a loss. Maybe she was stupid after all? Being in jail made her feel like she was clever, maybe that’s because she had such a low benchmark? There she was the smartest person in a room of very dumb people. She was really going to have to do a whole lot more work to keep up with these pricks.

 

Her mood didn’t shift when she got to Bridget’s that evening. At dinner Bridget asked, “I was wondering if you felt like a few days away at the beach this weekend. We’ve got a beach house at Sorrento that no one’s using this weekend.”

Franky felt a wave of irritation, she hadn’t heard of this beach house. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Well, my family. Mum and Dad bought it in the 70s and we all use it. It’s nothing fancy.”

Franky felt unreasonably irritated. “Why didn’t you mention before that you had a beach house?”

“Well, it never came up. It’s not mine, really, it’s all ours.”

“Is your family going to be there?” She knew she was acting like a child but couldn’t snap herself out of it.

Bridget didn’t know why Franky seemed so cross. “No, it would be just us.” She paused. “I know you’re nowhere near close to wanting to meet my family.”

“Would they know we’ll be there?”

“Yes, I’d need to let them know that it’s not available.” She paused. “Look, they’re all dying to meet you and I’m dying to introduce you to them.”

“Really?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “I’m sure they’re dying to meet your new girlfriend who’s a violent criminal from the wrong side of the tracks. Bit different to introducing them to the Professor.” Bridget’s last girlfriend had been Professor of English Literature at Melbourne University.

Bridget walked over to Franky and hugged her. She kissed her gently and then looked deep into her eyes. Franky’s green eyes were clouded, she was frowning. _What was the matter with her?_ “Baby, what’s the matter? Is there something I’ve done? Is something bothering you?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She moved out of Bridget’s embrace, got up and started clearing away the plates. She didn’t say anything more as she loaded the plates into the dishwasher.

“Franky, stop doing that. Come over here.” Bridget pulled her gently by the hand to the couch and sat down with her in her arms. She thought Franky must be apprehensive at the thought of meeting her parents. She had explained before to Franky that her parents and brothers were so supportive of everything she did that she could have come home with a drug addicted prostitute and they would have been delighted – as long as said prostitute loved her. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Franky tried to snap out of her mood. How could she explain to Bridget how she was feeling; that she was an outsider in this world and would never belong? That doing law may be beyond her?

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. I’ve just had a shitty day. A weekend at the beach would be great.”

Bridget knew that this wasn’t the full story but didn’t push it. “I was thinking of taking Friday off. Would you be able to rearrange your Friday shift? We could head down on Friday morning.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask them in the morning.”

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She felt the same about the kitchen job she had as she did about her course. Okay, it was similar to what she was doing inside but the mundanity and boredom of it seemed especially hard to take now. She’d applied for a number of other jobs but didn’t even get a response, so she was resigned to sticking with it. Besides, she badly needed the money. After her rent and bills were paid she had about $350 left over each week, which was just enough if you were living a student lifestyle, but not if you were living the type of life she and Bridget lived. Bridget had a good salary and hadn’t lived like a student for years. She was used to good restaurants, good clothes, good wine and trips away. Bridget had been lucky enough to get a house deposit together when she had just started work 20 years before – it was a small inheritance from her grandmother. She bought a run down house in a great inner city suburb and over the years had renovated it and paid the loan off. She was now in the enviable position of not having a mortgage. Whenever they went out Bridget insisted on paying, but Franky hated that. She was also conscious that she hadn’t been able to pay Bridget back for the bond she’d paid on the flat.

Franky worried about money. Whenever the topic came up Bridget assured her that she was happy to pay. “Look, you’re my girlfriend, I’m on a good salary. Let me pay. You’d do the same for me. Besides, it’s just when we go out. God, I supported Jane for the whole 5 years it took her to do her bloody useless PhD.”

Would Franky do that for Bridget if their positions were reversed? Yes, she supposed she would. She started to realise that allowing someone to give you something or do something for you was part of being in a fully committed relationship. She needed to give up some of her fiercely won independence. But it was hard.

They talked best after sex, lying side by side in bed or cuddled in each other’s arms. There Franky found it easier to talk. Bridget was so effusive in her love and constantly told her she loved her and why. It was pretty affirming. Bridget couldn’t believe her luck in having Franky not only in her bed but in her life. She had no doubts that this was it for her so she was willing to put everything into the relationship. Franky was feeling her way. She was madly in love with Bridget, but had never had a serious relationship before. She was getting used to the need to talk about your feelings which Bridget, naturally as a psychologist, insisted upon. With her past relationships she had just got on with it and shut down any talk about feelings. With this relationship, there was so much more to it than just sex or hanging out. They were trying to mesh each other into their shared lives. Franky got such pleasure hearing about Bridget’s life, her experiences and her views on things. She was _interested_ in her. Bridget was _fascinated_ by Franky. She didn’t care that she was from a different background, she just saw this as proof of what a remarkable person Franky was. She had triumphed over abuse and disadvantage; her intelligence and ability shone through. As Bridget was in love she thought everyone could see how special Franky was; how her toughness cloaked her vulnerability and softness. She didn’t idealise her as she knew her history, but was confident that the violence and ruthlessness was behind her.


	2. The beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky and Bridget have a weekend at Bridget's family's beach house and run into an old friend of Bridget's.

It was a bit more than an hour’s drive from Melbourne down to the Westfall family’s beach house. It was a classic unrenovated fibro beach house with verandas on all sides which had big sliding windows that faced out to the sea. Bridget was right, it wasn’t fancy, but it was spacious and comfortable. There were 3 main bedrooms with queen beds in them and a large fourth bedroom with 4 sets of bunks. Clearly the extended family would all spend time there together. There were lots of photos around of the family over the years. Franky looked closely; there was a little blonde girl holding a fishing rod aged about 7. “Is this you?” Bridget looked over at it and nodded. “Look how cute you were,” Franky laughed. There was another one of Bridget as an adult sitting under an umbrella holding a baby. Her face was turned away from the camera and looking lovingly at the baby. “Freya,” Bridget said. Franky passed wordlessly onto the next photo, a big shot of what looked like the whole family grouped in the back yard. Another of a much younger Bridget and what looked like Jo and another couple of girls in their early 20s sitting on the veranda with glasses of champagne in their hands and big grins. “New years at the end of second year.”

Franky kept studying the photos and Bridget started unpacking the groceries she’d brought into the fridge. She always felt instantly relaxed when she got here. She put a bottle of champagne in the fridge and left the cheese out on the bench. “I always feel like a glass or two of champers when I get here.” Franky moved on to looking at the books which had been left there over the years by family and friends. It was an eclectic mix of classics old and new and some oddities. She pulled out ‘The Joy of Sex.’ Bridget looked over at it, “You won’t find much exciting in that. My parents and all their friends bought that in the 70s. All of us kids pored over it.”

Bridget walked over to Franky and pulled her into a deep kiss. “Shall we have a little lie down, then go to the beach and we can come back for a drink and nibbles then think about dinner.” Franky nodded, clearly Bridget had a certain way of doing things here and her enthusiasm was rubbing off on her. Bridget led her to the bedroom. Once inside Bridget swung her round and when her knees hit the edge of the bed she pushed her back onto the bed and then straddled her, her thigh pressing hard between Franky’s legs. She pulled her jeans and pants down and started peppering kisses along her thighs while pinning her hips to the bed. Franky’s body responded instantly. “Fuck Gidge, is this what you mean by a ‘lie down’?” Bridget grinned and moved up her body, “I just can’t get enough of you.”

Franky sang, “I can’t get no satisfaction, cause I try and I try….ahhh.”

Bridget chuckled, a sound she hadn’t heard before, deep in her throat. “I love how you make me laugh.”

“Don’t stop.”

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That afternoon they went down to the beach. It was a bit too cold to swim but warm on the sand. Soon after they’d settled on their towels they heard a woman’s voice call ‘Bridget.’ They both looked up and saw two women coming towards them. “Oh shit,” Bridget said under her breath. She got up and hugged both the women. Franky moved from her supine position on the towel and sat up. “Franky, this is Fiona and Cass.” Franky stuck out her hand. One was Amazonian, sexy and blonde and the other smaller, older, more rounded. They both sat down on the sand next to Franky and Bridget. The Amazonian one, Fiona, openly ran her eyes over Franky’s body. Bridget could see her taking in with frank appreciation the black bikini, the tattoos, muscles, breasts and skin. As Franky turned round to grab her sunglasses Fiona widened her eyes at Bridget and stuck her tongue between her teeth. Bridget tried to keep her expression neutral but couldn’t stop a blush.

“Fi and I went to school together.” Bridget said to Franky as she turned round.

Fiona leered at Franky, “I was quite a few years below. We also know each other because I went out with her lovely brother.” She grinned at Bridget.

Cass asked, “I was just about to get some coffees, would you like some?”

Bridget answered, “Yeah, I’d love one. Flat white please.”

“Latte for me, thanks.”

As Cass left Fiona said, “She’s always spending my money.” She turned to Bridget, “How long are you here for?”  


“Just the weekend. And you?”  


“We’re here for a week. We’re having some drinks tonight at our place if you’d like to come?”

Bridget said vaguely, “Um no thanks, we’ve got plans for tonight.”

Fiona smirked, “Yes I bet you have. How do you two know each other?”

“So, how are the kids?” Bridget asked trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, great.”

After some more small talk Cass arrived back with the coffees. She handed them around. “What do you do Franky?”

“I’m a dish pig.”

“And she’s studying law,” Bridget added, “Fi’s a lawyer.”

“What subjects are you doing?” Fiona asked.

“Contracts and Jurisprudence.”

“Oh God, contracts. That’s hard. I swear I didn’t understand what ‘consideration’ was until about 6 months through the year. Though I had other things on my mind in second year than consideration.”

Bridget bit back a retort and settled for a snort.

Franky laughed. “Yeah, I’m finding it a bit hard to concentrate on it.”

“I bet. Bridge can be pretty distracting.”

“She sure is.” Fiona and Cass laughed. Bridget looked uncomfortable.

Franky found herself relaxing; maybe Bridget’s friends wouldn’t be so bad. This woman was very amusing, a bit of a player obviously, but lots of fun. She and Bridget seemed as if they had a bit of a history.

Bridget tried to change the subject again, “How are your mum and dad?”

“Getting madder by the day. And yours?”

“Yeah, fine. Dad’s off to France in a couple of weeks, he’s doing the southern French part of the Compostella.”

Fiona had finished her coffee. She stood up, “We better get back to the others. Good to meet you Franky, good luck with the studies.” She looked at Bridget, “We might see you round.”

After they left, Franky turned to Bridget. “Wow, she’s something else.”

“Isn’t she? She’s a partner in one of those big law firms. Pretty ruthless from what I’m told.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. So, did you two have a thing?”

“Well, no, not really.”

“What does, ‘not really’ mean?”

“We slept together once. It’s a bit embarrassing really.”

“Why? Why would sleeping with her be embarrassing?”

“Well, she and my brother had had a pretty intense relationship from Year 12 to about 3rd year Uni. I slept with her after they broke up. It’s just embarrassing to have slept with someone who’s slept with your brother. I made her promise not to tell anyone – we’ve got heaps of friends in common. I wouldn’t put it past her to have tried it on with my other brother just to see if she could make the trifecta.”

Franky chuckled, “Classic.”

“Did you notice how fucking sexist she is? ‘She spends all my money.’ Poor Cass, she works _and_ looks after the kids. A man wouldn’t get away with saying that. And Cass was her secretary when they got together. Such a bloody cliché.”

“She riles you doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she does. Did you see how she was checking you out? So fucking obvious. She’ll be on her phone now texting everyone we know that she saw me at the beach with some hot young chick. It’s a wonder she didn’t take a photo of you and stick it on Instagram.” She cringed at the thought of Fiona’s amusement when she knew the full Bridget and Franky story.

“We can go to their drinks if you want?”

Bridget looked at Franky, _no fucking way_ she thought to herself. “No, I’d just prefer to be with you.”

“So did she tell?”

“Tell what?”

“About the two of you sleeping together?”

“No, not as far as I know. She is a lawyer, she knows how to keep secrets. That’s one thing you can say about her.”

Franky lay back on her towel and closed her eyes. She put her hand out and held Bridget’s. She felt a bit more relaxed now about her studies. If the partner of a law firm found Contracts hard then maybe she’d be ok. It was interesting to see another side of Bridget, not so calm, mature and in control. Allowing someone to get under her skin. So cute.


	3. The Franky and Bridget Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky and Bridget are having a weekend at the beach. Franky opens up about what is bothering her.

They left the beach as it started to cool down and walked back to the house. The light was beautiful. Franky decided to go for a run. Just as she was leaving Bridget’s phone rang, it was Jo. Good timing. Just the person Bridget wanted to talk to.

“Hey, Bridge, where are you?”

“We’re at the beach.”

“Lucky you, I’ve just come back from ferrying children around to parties. Now I have a mountain of washing up and washing to get to. So I'm putting it off and calling you.”

“Poor you. We’re about to have champagne and oysters. I’ll have a drink for you.”

“So how’s it going?” Bridget told Jo about meeting Fi and Cass at the beach. “Fi was slavering all over Franky and made her laugh. God, that woman!”

Jo chuckled, “She does manage to get under your skin. You’ll probably have to get used to people looking at Franky.”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it.”

“So how’s everything else going?”

“Yeah, good, but she was a bit shitty during the week. Seemed to get cross when I suggested going to the beach.”

“What do you mean?” Bridget relayed the conversation they’d had when she suggested going to the beach house.

“So where did she grow up?” Jo asked

“She moved around a bit, those god awful Western suburbs and then I don’t know where when she was in foster care.”

Jo took that in. Although she was now a senior public servant her degree was in Social Work and her specialty was Child Protection and Out of Home Care.

“Bridge, are you actually a psychologist or are you masquerading as one?”

“Oh god, here comes a lecture.”

“You’ve read her file?”

Bridget didn’t like to say how she’d pored over it. “Yes, and it was very big.”

Jo didn’t ask what was in it but she could pretty well guess. “I bet she left school at 16. You know then they just chucked them out with no support, not that it’s a whole lot better now.” This was one of the things Jo was trying to fix. “Imagine being out on your own at 16 having to totally fend for yourself? Foster kids tend to think of themselves as second class citizens – they don’t have the comfort of parental protection as most of us have and in many cases the parents have been actively abusive.”

“Yes, but Franky’s risen above that.”

“Has she? Don’t you think it would leave a scar? Just look at it from her point of view. You’ve got a beautiful house, heaps of friends and family and people looking out for you, your family has a beach house. I could imagine she’d feel a bit insecure. Add to that she’s adjusting to getting out of prison and starting at Uni. I’d get a bit shitty too.”

Bridget was silent. “Mmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“She’s probably just getting used to all this. I think you take it for granted. Also, and this is a lovely characteristic that you have; you see everyone as equal regardless of where they’ve come from or what they’ve done, but a lot of people don’t. They judge people from where they come from, not where they are now.”

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After Franky had got back from her run and showered, they sat out on the veranda looking at the sunset on the water and drank champagne and ate oysters. _How fucking perfect is this?_   thought Franky. What an amazing contrast to where she was three months ago. They sat side by side looking out to sea, their feet touching, silent as the light changed. Franky felt the irritations of Melbourne, work and law school fall away.

After they finished the first glass of champagne Bridget refilled them. “Is everything alright with us, babe?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well, you just seemed a bit distracted during the week. Is anything else bothering you?”

Franky didn’t say anything, she stared out to sea.

“We’re in this together. I have your back. Please talk to me.”

Bridget did have her back. If she was going to be in this relationship Bridget wasn’t going to let her sweep things under the carpet. She took a deep breath.

“Look babe, if you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty fucked in the head. I sort of have this feeling all the time that if something good happens to me then I don’t deserve it and if something bad happens I deserve it. I’m so used to people leaving me that I can’t quite believe yet that you’re going to stay.” Bridget was quiet, listening. Franky felt that things were solidifying in her head as she talked.

“I’m pretty good at sussing out people’s weaknesses and then preying on them. I know my own weaknesses. There’s the violence, obviously. Hopefully that’s gone now. I’ve got trust issues, you worked that one out pretty quickly. I have self-harmed. I suppose I’ve got a fair amount of self hatred. I feel like I’m not as good as everyone else. I’m jealous of what you’ve got, of what other people have got.”

“But what I’ve got is yours now.”

Franky voice cracked as she continued, “I feel like the law degree is beyond me. The kids in the tutes seem to know everything, I don’t know if I can keep up. Maybe washing up in a kitchen is all I’m good for.”

Bridget moved over to her chair and put her arms around her. “Oh babe, you’re so wrong about that.”

“I don’t know if they’re making fun of me or looking down on me or both. I’m scared of losing it. The last time I felt like someone was making fun of me I got a 6 year sentence.” She leant her head against Bridget and let the tears fall. Bridget stroked her head and kissed her eyes. Once she felt the tears had run their course she moved back to her chair and held Franky’s hand. She looked at her.

“You really are the most amazing person I’ve met. You’re better than anyone I know. I love you so much.” Franky sniffed and smiled through her tears.

“Just the fact you can articulate this is amazing. I always want to know what’s on your mind. You shouldn’t have any pride with me.” Bridget wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Let’s think about the course, you’re probably just finding your feet a bit. In my experience even if people are only one page ahead in the text book it feels like they know heaps more. Maybe 25 hours a week of work is too much. When I was at Uni I did about 8 hours. Why don’t you cut down your hours then you’ll have more time to study?”

“I can barely live on the money I’m getting at the moment.”

“Well why don’t you give up the flat and move in with me. It does seem a bit of a waste of money given you’re at my place most of the time.”

“Yeah but I don’t want to make you pay for me.”

“If you don’t think you’re ready to move in with me that’s one thing, but don’t worry about the money. You’re my girlfriend, I don’t mind supporting you. I’ve got enough for both of us. If you’d prefer to keep the flat keep it, just cut your hours down and I’ll pay the rent. But I would love you to move in with me.”

“God you’re amazing. I love you so much. Come here.” Bridget stood up and she pulled her into her lap and kissed her deeply. “I must have done something right in another life.” She felt a tremendous weight lift off her shoulders, she smiled into Bridget’s eyes. She’d never said all that she had said to Bridget in one go, not to anyone. In fact she had previously found it hard to even think these thoughts in her head, let alone say them.

Bridget was conscious of not being Franky’s counsellor but she was worried about Franky’s reaction to her tutorial class. Maybe they were laughing at her? Bridget had known some arrogant law students in her time. Probably most of them still lived at home with mummy and daddy and didn’t have a care in the world. It could also be an overreaction on Franky’s part as she was obviously super sensitive to slights about her intelligence. A defensive Franky was a dangerous Franky.

“You don’t feel like you’re going to lose it in a tutorial?”

“No, but I felt really angry after the last class. Maybe I should see that person you suggested. I need to go back over the anger management stuff.”

That was a breakthrough. “OK, I’ll text you her details.” She paused, “You’ll probably find that once you get to know the other students that they’re not that bad. Most of them probably have limited life experience. It doesn’t mean they’re not worth knowing.”

“Yeah. I s’pose. I just feel that I’m not part of the club.”

“You’re part of my club now. We’ve got our own. It’s the most exclusive there is, Franky and Bridget. No applications for new membership will be taken.”

Franky laughed. 

“Shall we wander up the road and get some dinner?” Bridget asked. As she gathered up the glasses and oyster shells she asked, “So, what’s my weakness?”

Franky answered seriously, “I couldn’t find one.”

Bridget grinned ruefully; her weakness was Franky.


	4. All the maybes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget is forced to meet with someone from Franky's past

Bridget sat staring at her computer screen for ages, she felt her heart pumping. She read the message a few more times, the name seemed to jump out as if it were bold and in capitals. It was from the receptionist, “Please call Erica Davidson from Legal Aid re Kieesha Taylor.”

Just the thought of the name _Erica Davidson_ made her almost want to vomit. Kieesha was a client of hers that she had counselled in her job at the last jail she worked at. She must be appealing her sentence and Legal Aid was preparing the defence and needed her assistance. She cursed the smallness of the Melbourne legal community. The last thing she wanted was to meet or talk to Erica. She wondered if Erica knew who she was. Should she tell her their connection? She sat staring at the screen.

Bridget did what she always did when she had a problem, she phoned a friend. Sarah was a friend from Uni who had worked at Legal Aid and now worked for the Public Defenders’ Office. She would run things past her to see if from a conflict of interest point of view she needed to disclose to Erica who she was.

Sarah listened carefully as Bridget explained the situation to her with some embarrassment. Wow, she thought to herself, sensible Bridget has really fallen head over heels. What a classic triangle. She asked a few questions, then paused a while as she thought, “Look, I don’t think there is a legal obligation on you to disclose that you are in a relationship with Franky, there’s not a conflict of interest. However if you start from the premise that you should both act in a way that is best for your mutual client, I think you should disclose it. You wouldn’t want Erica not to do a good job because of a personal relationship. In this way if you let her know then she can decide if she would like to get another solicitor to take on the matter. There are plenty who could and it wouldn’t be a big deal if that were to happen.”

After Bridget hung up she walked around the office then went to get herself a cup of tea to try and psych herself up to make the phone call. She wondered if she should call Franky to discuss. She decided against it as she thought she could get this over and done with without Franky having to confront the name.

She took a few deep breaths and dialled the number. It went straight through, “Erica Davidson speaking.” The voice was cool and professional. Bridget tried to pitch hers at the same level but felt it sounded breathier than usual.

“It’s Bridget Westfall here. You called regarding Kieesha Smith.”

“Yes, thank you for calling. We’re acting for Kieesha in the appeal of her sentence. One of the grounds is fitness to plead. We would like a report from her psychologist regarding this. I will send over the necessary privacy forms and the formal request if you’re happy to do it. It will require you to give evidence. I assume you’re right to do this?”

“Yes of course.”

“Could you tell me your email address and I’ll email over the documents now. We will need it by Wednesday next week.”

Bridget gave her email address and then screwed up her courage. “Before you go, I’d like to disclose something. I don’t think it’s a conflict of interest, but I feel better getting it out in the open as you’re the solicitor handling the appeal.” She paused.

“Yes.” The voice at the other end sounded guarded.

“Umm, I am, umm, in a relationship with Franky Doyle.”

“Oh.”

Bridget spoke again, “I know you had a brief umm” Bridget paused as she sought the correct word, affair? liaison? ”relationship with her at the end of last year.”

There was silence at the other end.

Erica said, “Yes, I’m aware you were in a relationship with her.”

“And am still in one.”

“Right,” Erica seemed to have pulled herself together and sounded briskly professional, “I’m sure we can both be professionals about this.”

“Good, well I’ll wait to get the email from you.”

Bridget rang off relieved that that conversation was over. She wondered how Erica was feeling at the other end.

0000000000000

 

 

The secretary showed Bridget into the barrister’s chambers. There was a woman already there. Erica. She stood up to introduce herself and shake Bridget’s hand. Neither woman's smile reached her eyes. Bridget felt a spurt of extreme dislike, almost a visceral reaction. She thought of Franky locked in the slot by this woman for five long weeks. Worse, the thought of them kissing, making love. She struggled to maintain her composure. The barrister, a good looking man in his mid 50s, stood up. Bridget moved over to him and shook his hand, “Hi John." 

"You two have already met?" For some reason Erica felt irritated.

"Yes, Bridget's given expert evidence on a number of matters I've been involved in." He beckoned Bridget to a seat and returned to his desk opening his brief, "Now, the unfortunate Miss Taylor.”

The conference progressed. At the end, John showed the two women to the lift which they shared in uncomfortable silence to the street level. As the lift doors opened, Erica turned to Bridget, "I know you'd prefer to not speak to me any more than you have to, but can I buy you a coffee, I'd like to talk to you." Erica had imagined a younger, flightier woman, not one so self possessed, so comfortable with her place in the world.  So....yes, she had to articulate it, so upper middle class.

Bridget reluctantly agreed. There was a cafe just outside the chambers. They took a seat. A waiter took their order. Erica nodded at a couple of people in the cafe who had papers spread out on the table between them. Bridget felt she was probably the only one there not with a law degree or in a suit.

Where to start? Erica cleared her throat, "I'd like you to know that when Franky and I started our ..... um... I didn't know she was with someone."

Bridget looked directly at Erica for the first time. For the past hour she'd looked at anywhere but her. She took in the poise, the looks, the perfect grooming, and the reserve. She could see why Franky had been attracted to her.

"I know. But had you known, would that have stopped you?"

Erica looked startled. People weren't normally so direct. She felt on the back foot, "No," she admitted, "probably not."

Their coffees arrived. There was silence. Bridget took a sip. She spoke, "We live together now."

Erica took that in. She tried to imagine introducing Franky to her family and friends. Tried to imagine a domesticated Franky living in a house rather than a cell plastered with posters. She could imagine the tasteful house Bridget owned in a nice inner city suburb. Did Franky leave her underwear on the floor in the bathroom, did she clean up the kitchen when it was her turn, did she smoke her rollies inside? What did they do in their spare time? Cuddle up on the couch together watching movies? Erica tried to get that unwonted image out of her head. 

Bridget must love her; must really love her. She'd had her heart broken once before by Franky and was willing to take the risk again. Erica realised in a moment what had taken more than 2 years to occur to her: that she had lacked the courage to see how far the relationship could go. Whether the lust would turn to love, or was really love all along. She was frightened of where Franky would take her. This woman was braver than her. Maybe it was love that Franky had been after all along and knew that she wasn’t ready (or able?) to provide. Maybe that was why she'd left that evening without explanation. Maybe she could have had a relationship with her. Maybe Franky could have loved her. _Maybe maybe maybe_.

She felt a need to puncture Bridget's self assurance. _The things I could tell you about what Franky Doyle has done._

The words were out before she could stop them, "Tell me, have you had relationships with other prisoners you were counselling?"

Bridget looked coolly at her, "Are you planning on reporting me to the Psych Board?" The only way you could tell she was angry was by her slightly heightened colour.

Erica thought, _this woman isn’t a pushover_. She said nothing.  Bridget felt calm and icy cold. 

After a few seconds she said, "Tell me, how many prisoners have pushed you up against a wall and kissed you without repercussions?" 

A blush spread across Erica’s forehead. She looked down at her coffee. _But there were repercussions, for both of us. For me a broken marriage, a career derailed, a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach that I can’t seem to budge. Who was she trying to fool with her faux outrage about Bridget’s breach of ethics? Knowing Franky as she did she thought it highly likely that Franky had started the whole thing anyway._

Bridget detected a look of loss and regret on Erica's face; she looked punctured. When Erica had recovered enough to speak, she said, "I'm sorry. I was wrong to imply that you'd been unethical. Of course I'm not going to report you." This wasn't going how she'd hoped. God what a mess she'd made of things. She wished Franky Doyle had never crossed her path. Single, childless, virtually friendless, career going nowhere. She felt like she could break down there and then in front of a triumphant Bridget. 

As Bridget watched Erica’s face she felt her dislike dry up. "Look I don't blame you, we both know Franky can be ..." she searched around for the correct word. "....persuasive. You provided help in her life when she badly needed it, so I'm grateful for that."

Erica shifted in her seat, she managed to get her emotions under control. There was no use pretending anymore, "You really love her?"

"Like I've never loved anyone before."

"Franky deserves that."

"Yeah, she does."

Silence, as they both contemplated their shared bond.

Bridget finished her coffee. She stood up and reached across the table and shook hands. Her eyes had softened. "I'll see you at the hearing.” Erica watched her leave, and heedless of who she knew in the cafe, held her head in her hands.


	5. You've got to trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky isn't happy when she hears about Bridget's meeting with Erica

Bridget hadn’t told Franky of her initial conversation on the phone with Erica. She’d thought of it a few times, but had hesitated telling her; there just didn’t seem a right moment. After actually meeting with Erica, she couldn’t conceal it from her any longer. When she got home from work that day after meeting with Erica she told Franky that she’d had a barrister’s conference and coffee with her.

“What! Who?” Franky looked confused.

Bridget repeated herself.

“Couldn’t you get out of it?”

“No, I couldn’t, I’m the only psychologist that the client has seen. When I spoke to Erica on the phone I told her who I was to give her the opportunity to excuse herself from the case. She obviously decided she didn’t need to.”

Even Bridget saying Erica’s name sounded wrong to Franky.

“OK, but why the fuck did you agree to have coffee with her and why didn’t you tell me when she first called?” Franky's voice seemed very loud.

Bridget started to feel bad, yes, it didn’t look good. And why hadn’t she told Franky straight away?

“I’m sorry babe, I just couldn’t seem to say no to the coffee. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you as soon as I’d spoken to her on the phone, I just felt uncomfortable bringing her name up I suppose.”

“So what the hell did you talk about when you had coffee?” Franky stared at her, frowning.

“Just about the case.”

"I can't believe it. You concealed this from me deliberately. Do you have to see her again?”

“Only when I have to give evidence.” She went to hug Franky but she moved away and said gruffly, “I’m going for a run.” She went to their room to change and when she came back she said to Bridget, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I don’t want any secrets from us. How would you feel if I had seen her and hadn’t said anything?”

“I’m not the one who had the affair with her.”

As soon as she’d said it Bridget regretted it. Franky gave her a look and then left, slamming the front door hard.

_Oh fuck!_ Bridget thought to herself. She started crying. She hadn’t told Franky initially because she didn’t want to rake over old ground. She always had a fear in the back of her mind that Franky would go back to Erica. And then why had she lied about what they had talked about over coffee? Oh God, it was so unfair. _Fucking Erica Davidson._

After about 45 minutes Franky returned from her run. Bridget heard the shower start and her heart started hammering. She psyched herself up. She waited until Franky was out and dressed. She came back into the living room. Unfortunately the run didn’t seem to have cooled her down at all.

Her voice was hard, “So are you going to throw that back on me whenever we have an argument?”

“No, I ….”

Franky interrupted her, “I told you it was finished and I’ll never go back to her. Don’t you believe me?”

“I do, I’m sorry. I acted badly. I should have told you as soon as she called me. I shouldn’t have said what I said.” She felt the tears start again. “I’m not going to throw it against you again.”

Franky hadn’t seen her cry since she'd told her about sleeping with Erica months ago. She felt herself softening. “You’ve got to trust me,” she said, her voice less angry. "You insist on me telling you everything. You have to as well."

"Yes. You're right. Please forgive me. You're not going to leave me are you?"

 "I'm hardly going to leave you after one argument. Well, not ever." She grinned, "Not unless you're really horrible to me and go off with someone else, or hurt me."

 Bridget grinned through her tears, "Well, that's not going to happen!" Franky wrapped her in her arms. Bridget sniffed, Franky looked at her lovingly and wiped her eyes gently. She kissed her and Bridget responded passionately. Franky pushed her down on the couch forcefully, and kissed her harder. She had always been very gentle with Bridget but the rough Franky was now unleashed. Bridget tried to turn her over but Franky kept her pinned down, her hands holding Bridget's by her head, and her leg firmly between Bridget’s. Bridget tried bucking her off with her hips, but there was no moving her. Franky grinned and whispered croakily in her ear, "you're going to have to do what I want. Stay still."  They were roughly the same weight but Franky was quite a lot stronger. She enjoyed using her strength. She'd often been quite rough with Kim who always submitted quickly. Bridget didn't seem so resigned to her subordinate position. She kept struggling, her eyes alight. Franky tried again, her voice more commanding, "You need to be still." Bridget flashed a look of defiance, "No." 

"Then I'll have to make you."

"Go on then."

 She took her right hand off Bridget's and put it around her neck, squeezing gently.

"Now are you going to do what I say?"

 Bridget tried with her free hand to pull Franky's hand away from her throat, "No."

Franky squeezed tighter, then released Bridget's other hand and reached up under her shirt, pushed her bra aside and squeezed her nipple. She kissed her again, hard, then put her left forearm to Bridget’s throat and pressed gently. Bridget’s free hand tried to push Franky’s arm off her. That didn’t work so she tried pushing on Franky’s shoulders. Franky pushed her forearm harder onto Bridget’s neck. She looked at Bridget struggling beneath her and felt a surge of pure lust. "I'll stop as soon as you do what I say." She watched her face carefully. Bridget gave one more half hearted buck and then stopped. She couldn't speak because Franky's arm was too tight against her throat. She nodded, Franky released the pressure. "Will you do what I say?" She croaked out a ‘yes.’ Franky let go of her neck. "Now, lie still and no talking."

Franky moved off the couch, reached down and picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, throwing her on the bed. She hauled off her shirt and bra and pulled the belt off her pants. "Put your hands above your head." Bridget obeyed and she looped the belt around her hands. She then unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them and her pants down. Bridget's breathing was harsh. This was a different Franky to what she was used to and fuck it was hot. Her throat hurt from Franky’s arm but her body was responding, she was wet and could feel Franky’s lips on her thighs. After teasing her by breathing against her clit Franky flipped her over onto her stomach and smacked her on the arse, once on each cheek. “That’s for being disobedient.” She ran her fingernails over the red handprints and then peppered kisses on them. Bridget was shivering.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” whispered a hot breath in her ear as she felt two fingers inside her. Bridget moved against them. Franky’s fingers stilled. “What did I say about not moving?” Bridget stopped and tried to stay as still as she could as she felt the orgasm building. Franky knew exactly what she liked, and she played with her until she could feel Bridget’s whole body start to shudder. She put a third finger in and with a few hard thrusts made Bridget come. A loud “Fuck” from Bridget was slightly muffled by the pillow.

Afterwards, as Franky lay in Bridget’s arms she said, “Was that ok babe, I didn’t scare you?”

“No, that was fine. Though you’ll have picked up that I’m not naturally submissive.”

“Yes, I have noticed that. Have you picked up that I’m naturally dominant?”

“Ah, no.” Bridget grinned. Franky couldn’t work out if she was teasing her.

“What do you think this tattoo means?” Franky indicated her sleeve tattoo.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s a dominatrix.”

“Oh right.”

“What about the hitting, was that alright?”

“Yeah, the no hitting rule doesn’t extend to the bedroom. But no slapping across the face, I don’t like that. Here’s the deal, I can do to you whatever you do to me. That’s fair isn’t it?”

Franky didn’t seem so keen on that, “But how are you going to make me?”

“Just because you’re stronger doesn’t naturally make you the dominant one. Sometimes you’ll just have to do what I tell you to do.”

That was new to Franky, she had been the dominant one in every relationship she’d had. She always needed to be in control. Still the thought of Bridget bossing her around in bed had some appeal. She’d never trusted anyone enough to let them take control of her. Maybe with Bridget she could.

She kissed Bridget with a grin, “We’ll see.”

“There’s no ‘we’ll see’ about it.” Bridget gave her an evil grin. “You're going to have to trust me!”


	6. What are you waiting for?

“You won’t guess who I had coffee with during the week?” Bridget and Jo were having breakfast together on Saturday morning.

“No, who?” Jo asked.

“Erica Davidson.” Jo looked blank.

Bridget said, “She’s the woman that Franky had the affair with.”

“Oh brilliant!” Jo loved stories like this. “How did that happen?”

“She’s a solicitor at Legal Aid now and we have a mutual client. I had to meet her in the city for a conference with the barrister.”

“What’s she like?”

“Hard to tell really. Pretty, young.”

“Only you would end up having coffee with her. Why the hell did you agree to it?”

 “Well she asked me nicely. I don’t know why she wanted to really. I think it may have back fired on her.”

“Why?”

“Well, her opening salvo was asking me if I’d had relationships with other prisoners I’d counselled.”

“What! The bitch! I’ll talk to Evan and make sure she spends the rest of her career doing weekend bail applications.”

Evan was a friend of Jo’s and the Head of Legal Aid, Erica’s boss. Bridget only saw the ruthless side of Jo occasionally and it always surprised her. She supposed that you couldn’t get to the position Jo had by being nice to everyone all the time.

“No, don’t do that.”

“It’s a bit of a come down really, from being the Governor of a maximum security prison to a Legal Aid solicitor. Anyway, tell me why did it backfire?”

“Well, I asked her how many prisoners had pushed her up against a wall and kissed her and not been punished for it.” Jo snorted with delight. “She literally wilted before my eyes, from being quite aggressive she almost lost it. I thought she was going to cry.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. It was almost like I could see every regret she had in her life pass before her eyes. It was like she had some sort of epiphany.” Maybe it was pure regret for the relationship with Franky not working out.

“So do you think the problem is that she is still sexually confused?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s more complex than that. I think she’s Franky confused. It’s almost like no one else can do it for her but she couldn’t handle her. That’s my take on it anyway. I suppose I’m biased.”

“I wonder what other relationships she’s had since she left her husband.”

“I don’t know. “ Bridget took a sip of her coffee. “When I met her in the barrister’s chambers I was almost hyperventilating I felt such dislike. Do you know when she was Governor she slotted Franky for 5 weeks? 5 weeks! And Franky didn’t even do what she was accused of and Erica knew it. I just can’t understand that.”

“What’s ‘slotted’?”

“It’s solitary confinement. Small cell with no natural light, dim. Hard bed, toilet, no books, no contact with anyone except a meal being pushed through the hole in the door three times a day. A camera on you 24/7.”

“God, 5 weeks.” Jo shuddered.

They were both silent contemplating that.

After a while Jo said, “I don’t think I’d want anything to do with anyone who did that to me.”

Bridget agreed. “She still has nightmares about it occasionally.”

“So why did Erica do it, sounds like some type of weird sadistic game to me.”

“Apparently Franky had to take the fall for giving someone drugs otherwise Erica might have lost her job.”

“Jesus. Well she certainly got her comeuppance now if career’s important to her. What did Franky say about you meeting Erica?”

A guilty look came over Bridget’s face, “She wasn’t too happy about it.”

“I can imagine, no one likes the thought of their ex and current squeeze sitting down to compare notes over coffee.”

“It was hardly like that!”

“Don’t worry, I’m only teasing you.”

“Yeah, well I might not have told Franky exactly what we talked about.”

“Oh Bridge!”

“Mmm, I just said we talked about the case. Yeah yeah, I feel really bad about it. And no repercussions against Erica please. Promise?”

“Yeah, OK, I promise. So why didn’t you tell her?”

“I don’t know.” She did know, she had picked up Erica’s regret about Franky and didn’t want to pass that on.

“So,” Jo said, with a wry grin, “Did you make her promise that she’d never get back with Franky?”

“Oh Jeez Jo, that wouldn’t be worth the paper it was written on!” No, but she’d strangle them both with her bare hands if it did happen again.

As Jo walked to her car, she thought about her conversation with Bridget and couldn’t get out of her head the thought of being locked up in a dark cell with nothing to do and no human contact for five weeks. She wondered whether she would have the strength to survive that experience. She thought of Franky being fostered and the abuse she had probably suffered as a child. Everyone had a story, she thought, if you knew it you could almost always forgive them.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Somehow, after their argument about Erica, Franky felt more secure in the relationship. She had known since they got back together that Bridget truly loved her but she'd always felt that she was the 'bad one' in the relationship. That she got all the benefit. She felt that she had to make up for the affair with Erica. That she had to make up for not having any money and relying on Bridget for everything. That she was a liability and someone to be ashamed of because she was an ex criminal with a violent temper. Bridget, by not telling her about the phone call from Erica showed that she was human. Bridget had always acted perfectly, like the adult in the relationship. Now Franky could see, with some relief, that Bridget wasn't perfect. She'd lied by omission in not telling her of the phone call with Erica when she should have come straight home that afternoon and told her or even better, called Franky as soon as she got the phone message. Franky suspected that she had lied about what she and Erica had talked about over coffee but didn't call her out on it. She found it very unlikely that the two of them had just talked about the case. Why would those two bother to sit down together and talk about a case just after they’d had a conference with a barrister about it? Wouldn't Bridget have just got the hell out of there? Anyway, that didn't matter now. She now felt like an equal partner in the relationship. She felt ready to move it to the next level which was the dreaded 'meet the family.'

When she told Bridget that she was ready to meet her family Bridget was absolutely delighted. She didn't hide her joy, "They will absolutely love you!" Franky wasn't so sure. Bridget was crazy in love and did seem to have some misconception that the world felt as she did. Franky supposed Bridget’s parents could overlook her obvious disadvantages if she could show them she truly loved their daughter. This wasn't going to be conveyed in one meeting, but would take time, years perhaps, to prove to them that this relationship was right for their daughter.

Franky was feeling more relaxed about money. She now didn’t have rent and bills on her flat to pay so she had more disposable cash. Bridget wouldn’t let her pay any bills on the house or when they went out. They put money in for a kitty for groceries, but Bridget always seemed to buy extra, things like good wine, nice cheese and expensive cuts of meat.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bridget came home from work one day and found Franky vacuuming. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Come on, I’ve got to pull my weight.”

“Franky, it’s not as if you’re a boarder who needs to do housework in lieu of rent. Besides, the cleaner won’t have anything to do.”

“Well sack the cleaner, I can do it.”

“No, poor Alice, I’m not going to sack her! I’ve had her for 10 years. She needs the money. Besides, you could use your time better than vacuuming. Study, then when I’m home you can be at my disposal.”

“Oh, so I’m some sort of sex slave then am I?”

“Yes, that’s right. Sexual services in exchange for rent. You’d have to keep yourself fit and attractive, but I don’t imagine that will be hard.”

“What would you like me to do for you?” Franky raised an eyebrow, grinning.

Bridget drew her towards her and kissed her, “Well, you can start by getting naked.”

Franky kissed her back, “Yes, and then what?”

“Then you can go and wait in the bedroom until I’m ready for you.”

“And then what?”

“Then you can undress me slowly and kiss and lick every inch of my body. And I mean every inch.” Franky felt herself getting turned on.

“Then how do you want me to make you come?”

“I’ll leave that up to you. But I want to come twice. No excuses, no slacking off.”

“Yes ma’am.” Franky licked her lips.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”


	7. Meeting the parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky meets Bridget's parents and they enjoy an afternoon by the pool

Franky couldn’t hide her apprehension. Bridget was a bit nervous too, she’d lost count of the number of girlfriends she’d introduced to her parents, every single one of them a failed relationship. Depressing thought. As they stood at the front door of Bridget’s family home, Franky muttered, “Fuck this is almost as bad as facing the Freak with a pair of rubber gloves.”

Bridget looked confused, “What?”

Just then the door opened and a tall, spare, well dressed man in his late 60s opened the door. “Bridgey” he hugged her and then turned a charming smile to Franky. “Franky,” she stuck out her hand but he took her by the shoulders and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome, come in.” As he turned his back Franky mouthed ‘Bridgey’ at Bridget and grinned. “Your mother’s in the kitchen” He led them though the wide hallway which was covered in family photos, to a large open modern kitchen which had glass doors opening onto an outdoor area. Bridget’s mother came out from behind the bench. She gave Franky a searching look as she shook her hand but her voice was warm. “Hello Franky. It’s Margaret.” She was a very well groomed woman with a straight back. You could see that she’d been beautiful in her day. Her blue eyes twinkled, but there was steel there.

Franky managed to squawk out “Hi Margaret.”

Peter asked, “What would you like to drink to start with Franky?” Once they had their drinks, Margaret turned to Bridget, “We’re eating outside would you like to go and sit outside while I finish up. It’s a beautiful day. Can you take the nibbles?” She handed Bridget a tray. Outside under the wisteria covered pergola there was a large wooden table with a table cloth set for lunch. A fountain tinkled in the background. Bridget and Franky sat down and Peter joined them.

Franky felt instantly at ease with him, he seemed like the happiest man in the world. “I hear you’re off to France on Friday?” She asked him.

“Yes, I’m doing 3 weeks of the Compostela, then Margaret’s going to meet me in a house in Burgundy for a month. Have you heard of the Compostela?”

“No, not really.”

“It’s a pilgrim walk in Spain and France. I’ve done all the Spanish bits and a bit of the French part. Now, I’m doing more of the French part. Bridgey and I did 2 weeks of it together a few years ago.”

Bridget said, “It was fantastic, a bit exhausting though. You’d walk all day and then drink all night with people you’d met along the way. I loved it.”

“Yes, I don’t think the spiritual aspect of it is quite what Bridget takes from it.” Peter said dryly.

“We can’t all be crazy Catholics.” Bridget said, her tone light.

Peter ignored her, “Why don’t I get the photos to show Franky?” He left the table.

Bridget raised her eyebrows at Franky, “Let’s hope he doesn’t get the baby photos out next.”

Peter appeared with a photo book and handed it to Franky. It was full of photos of Bridget in shorts, shirt and backpack looking tanned and relaxed, walking, eating and drinking against a backdrop of old stone walls, restaurants in shady village squares and paths through green countryside. There were a few with her arms around a beautiful dark haired, very French looking woman of about her age, both grinning widely at the camera.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Anne-Sophie, a French friend of mine. She lives in Dijon. I’ve done a lot of travelling with her.”

“How did you meet?”

“She’s a friend of a friend, we met while we were working in London. She’s very French, tres chic.”

Once they’d looked through the photo album Peter turned to Franky, “So Franky, are you a practising Catholic?”

“Dad!” Bridget exclaimed, “Leave her alone.”

Franky didn’t know what to say, “Um, no, I don’t even know if I am Catholic.”

Bridget laughed, “Well of course you are, with a name like Francesca Doyle!”

Franky looked confused. Just then Margaret came through with some of the food and she was happy that the topic was dropped as they all got up to help carry things through to the table.

Lunch passed pleasantly. Peter and Margaret were very good company and asked her a lot of questions about her course and plans and opinions on things while skilfully avoiding the elephant in the room. She found herself relaxing and was able to contribute something when the conversation moved on to politics.

After lunch Margaret and Peter had a golf game to go to. Margaret said, “There’s no need for you two to rush off, why don't you stay and have a swim?" 

Bridget said, "Yeah, that would be good." She said to Franky, "we won't need swimmers, it's very secluded."

The pool was at the bottom of the garden in the French rather than Australian style. It was rectangular with sandstone surrounds and a room at the end which had banana lounges, a table, cupboards and a fridge. They stripped off. Franky ran towards the pool shouting, “Last in is a rotten egg” and did a huge bomb into the deep end.

Bridget laughed, “Lucky Dad didn’t see you do that, bombing into the pool is one of the few things that makes him cross.” Bridget dived in gracefully and in a few strokes had Franky wrapped in her arms. They kissed, Bridget ran her hands all over Franky's body. Franky looked around to see if anyone could see. Bridget laughed, "Don't worry, no one can see us."

Franky said, "I'm not much of an exhibitionist." This wasn't strictly true, she had quite deliberately put shows on at Wentworth when she'd felt like it. She was worried that Bridget's parents might see. The thought of Margaret walking in on them gave her the shivers.

After frolicking for a while in the water Franky lay on the paving on the edge of the pool face down with her hand trailing in the water. What a beautiful place to grow up in, she thought. She couldn’t help comparing it to the dusty hot back yards of the housing commission houses of her childhood. If she and Bridget had children together this place would provide the backdrop to her children’s lives. That was a good feeling. She listened to her breathing, the sound of the water lapping and the feel of the sun drying the water off her skin and felt at peace with the world.

Bridget admired the view; the brown skin, the muscles on her back; the curve of her buttocks and her long slim legs. She swam over and ran her hand over her body. “You have beautiful skin. I like your tattoos, but I love your skin.”

Franky said, “I like your parents, though your mum is a bit scary.”

Bridget grinned, “Yes, she is. You don’t want to get a telling off from her. She was the disciplinarian of the two.”

“Yeah, I bet. Though I imagine her methods were a bit different to my mother’s.”

Bridget was surprised to hear her speak so lightly of her mother’s abuse, “Yes, she didn’t tend to resort to violence. She's a bit of a conundrum. She looks like a Toorak matron who spends all her time having bridge and tennis parties and heading up the local Liberal party branch, but she's actually a fierce lefty. She always worked when we were growing up. She's very passionate about social justice."

Franky knew she was a social worker. "What type of social work did she do?"

"Mainly young offenders, so she’s had some experience with jails. When I started working in my first jail when I was 23, she said to me, ‘There, but for the grace of God, go we.’ I’ve never forgotten it. We’re all the same, some people have just taken a wrong turn.” It had really informed Bridget’s whole attitude to her work and the women she dealt with. And, she supposed, the woman lying naked in front of her.

Franky said nothing.

“Would you like a drink? There’s some beers or sparkling water here.” Bridget went towards the fridge. “No, I’m fine.” Franky said and closed her eyes. 

Bridget lay on a banana lounge in the shade which was big enough for two. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She was woken by a wet body plastered across her front planting kisses along her neck. She opened her eyes to a wet Franky, water dripping off her body and hair. Franky kissed her along the collarbones and then trailed kisses down her body until she got to her feet. She knelt down at the end of the lounge and pulled Bridget towards her and looped both legs over her shoulders. “Are you sure no-one can see?” she asked. Bridget managed to croak out a “No” and then “Oh fuck!” as Franky’s tongue found her clit. It wasn’t long before she came, her hips rising off the lounge. She tried to muffle her cries. Although the pool was secluded, there were neighbours nearby. Franky crawled up next to her and held her in her arms while she breathed out in bliss. Bridget whispered, “Well, that’s the first time that’s happened to me here! God you’re amazing, I’m so lucky to have you.”


	8. A special cuddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget and Franky have dinner at Bridget's best friend's house

Franky felt that she’d always had an icicle around her heart that year by year had grown. Now, every time Bridget said, “I love you,” or she got home and Bridget was there and wrapped her in her arms, or they made love, then a drip came off the icicle. She realised that she’d never been happy before, never really, deeply, contentedly happy. She was still frightened of Bridget leaving her or getting bored. She would feel this no matter how many times Bridget told her she loved her and would never leave her. She wondered how long it would take her to feel truly secure in the relationship or if she ever would. They had been together for about four months and Franky felt almost as if she were a new person.

She’d been taken to meet Bridget’s parents and that hurdle had been overcome and she felt that she’d acquitted herself well enough. She’d met Bridget’s two brothers who, with their wives and children, were all lovely and relaxed. Those meetings hadn’t turned out to be a drama at all, despite her nervous anticipation. Jo had not yet consented to meet her, and although Franky would be quite happy never to interact socially with her after their encounter outside Bridget’s house, she knew that she was one of the most important people in Bridget’s life so there would be no avoiding it when the time came.

One Friday night they were sitting on the couch watching a movie when a text came through on Bridget’s phone. It was from Jo inviting them to dinner the following night. Bridget seemed chuffed. “Isn’t that great?” She wondered what had softened Jo. It would be good to get this meeting behind them.

Franky couldn’t help herself, “I think I’d prefer to stick a fork in my eye.”

Bridget laughed and scooped her into a cuddle, “Don’t be an old curmudgeon, it’ll be fun.”

Franky grumbled, “Yeah, great way to spend a Saturday night, with someone who hates me.”

Bridget attacked her ticklish spot, “Of course she doesn’t hate you. Everyone loves you.”

Franky laughed, “I’ll think you’ll find that’s not true at all!”

“Everyone loves you and if they don’t, it’s just because they’re pretending. They’re jealous because they can’t have you.”

Franky tickled back. “I hope you always think that.” She pulled Bridget into her lap and kissed her. Bridget grabbed her phone, “Just wait, I have to text her back before she changes her mind.”

Franky kept distracting her, “That can wait,” she said and put the phone down.

0000000000000000

Jo met them at the door that Saturday evening. She hugged Bridget and shook Franky’s hand smiling. Her dark brown eyes were friendly. She was obviously determined to be on her best behaviour. She introduced Franky to Mike who smiled warmly at her. The children, Jimmy and Audrey hid behind Mike’s legs. Bridget was able to coax them out for a quick hug but after that they retreated again, two large pairs of eyes watching Franky.

They went to the back of the house and sat outside having drinks. Jimmy, aged 6 did somersaults on the lawn and looked up expectantly at the adults every time he did one. Mike said to Franky, “He’s showing off for you.”

After that didn’t seem to work, he came up to Franky and pulled at her hand. “Can you come and jump with me on the trampoline?” Surprised and a bit unsure, she allowed herself to be led down the large shady garden to the huge trampoline with side rails so that you couldn’t fall out. A bit different to the ones of her childhood.

“You have to take your shoes off.” Jimmy said. She did and they both climbed onto the trampoline. They were soon joined by Audrey who was 8.

“Now, you lie down and we’ll jump.” Jimmy seemed to be the boss.

Franky did as she was told. “You have to jump higher, I’m not bouncing up at all.” She said.

They tried. “My turn. You two lie down.”

She jumped around them so that they were thrown into the air and was rewarded with giggles.

“Can you do a somersault in the air?” Jimmy’s big brown eyes were on her. “My big cousin Tom can.”

“Yeah, you’ll have to sit on the edge though.” It was ages since she’d done this but she could feel the muscle memory kick in. She took a few jumps and then made the leap of faith, flipped and landed perfectly on her feet. The children clapped. “My turn,” Jimmy was up and jumping. She held him by the tummy and turned him over. “Again,” he screamed. Audrey was jumping up and down shouting, “My turn, my turn.” After doing this a number of times for each child, the three of them lay on their backs on the trampoline.

“Do you have kids?” Audrey asked.

Jimmy snorted, “Don’t be silly, she’s too young to have kids.”

Franky laughed, “No, I’m not too young, but I don’t have any.”

“Are you going to marry Bridge?” Jimmy asked

Audrey piped up with, “She can’t, they’re both girls but mummy says the gov’mint is going to change the law soon so they can.”

“So, will you get married when the gov’men lets you?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes, I’d like to but I haven’t asked Bridget yet.”

Audrey said knowledgeably, “She’ll say yes, mummy says she’s really in love with you.”

There was silence for a while then Audrey asked, “So when you can get married, will you have kids then?” Both children’s eyes were wide and stared at her.

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“So, you’ll give Bridget a special cuddle.” Audrey looked at her solemnly.

Franky was at a loss as to what she meant. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Fortunately Jimmy changed the topic. He ran his hand over the tattoo on Franky’s arm, “What’s this?”

“It’s a tattoo.”

“Did you colour it in yourself or did someone do it for you?”

“Someone did it for me.”

Audrey put her fingers on the scar at the back of her hand. “How did you get this scar?”

“I burnt myself in the kitchen.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes, a lot.”

They were both suitably impressed and took turns at tracing it.

Mike called them up to the house, “Come on kids, it’s time for dinner and Franky probably needs a drink.”

As the adults sat on the deck looking out at the garden, Franky said, “I was getting lots of questions.”

Mike said, “Oh no.”

“Jimmy seemed particularly interested in whether I’d make an honest woman of Bridget.” They all laughed and Bridget looked embarrassed. “Then we had a discussion about whether we’d have children once the ‘guv’men’ allowed us to get married.”

Jo said, “Oh God, sorry about that. They’re very interested in marriage and babies at the moment.”

“What’s a special cuddle?” Franky asked. Mike, Jo and Bridget whooped with laughter.

“It’s how babies are made,” Jo said, “the mummy and daddy have a special cuddle and a seed goes into the mummy’s tummy and that’s how babies start.”

“OK, that makes sense now. Audrey wanted to know if I’d give Bridget a special cuddle once we were allowed to get married.”

They all laughed. “They’re absolutely adorable,” Franky said. Children that age were so innocent. Mike and Jo went inside to feed them. They emerged later in pyjamas and hair wet from their bath and gave Bridget and Franky a cuddle goodnight. Jimmy touched Franky’s scar again and said, “Ow.” He looked at Bridget sadly, “Franky burnt herself in the kitchen.”

Bridget looked at Franky, “Yes.” She knew from her file how she’d got that scar and the contrast between the childrens’ innocence and the infliction of that scar couldn’t have been greater. They sat in silence after the children left.

Over dinner the conversation somehow strayed, despite Bridget’s best endeavours, to Jo’s work at the Department of Social Services. Bridget felt nervous; she hoped that the conversation wasn’t going to be too close to the bone for Franky.

Jo was talking about removing children from their families as a result of abuse, “The Department’s position is that parents should receive education and ongoing support and all possible options should be explored to keep parents and children together.”

“Well, I strongly disagree.” Franky felt her anger rise. Her tone of voice was stronger than she intended. She looked straight at Jo who looked steadily back at her.

Bridget and Mike held their breaths. Bridget thought, _oh God, let’s hope there’s not a fight._ There was silence around the table.

“Tell me why?” Jo asked. Mike and Bridget breathed out, they both knew this was Jo’s ‘Great, I’m going to have a fun discussion’ voice. _Phew_ thought Bridget, _that could have gone either way._

This was a topic that Franky had thought a lot about over the last 10 or 15 years. She was, she supposed, about as expert in it as anyone else. She took a breath. There were three pairs of eyes waiting to hear her views. Bridget looked encouragingly at her. It reminded her of the look she’d given her at the start of the parole hearing.

“The public and the private in this country have always been treated differently in the eyes of the criminal law. That’s wrong.” She paused. The others were silent, waiting for her to continue.

“If I go out and assault a stranger I get a 6 year sentence. If Bridget lost it and gave a backhander to one of your children, she’d be charged and might face jail time. But if one of you either assaulted each other in your home or assaulted your kids then that is treated totally differently. For a start between husbands and wives it’s called domestic violence which makes it sound sort of cosy and mild. At least though the police do charge perpetrators and there are Apprehended Violence Orders. People rarely do jail time for it, though. But it’s much worse for kids. You would have to assault and mistreat your kids so badly for anyone to do anything about it. Then, let’s say, you are reported and the state does intervene, everything possible is done to ensure that you will still have access to your children in the future. Often to the detriment of the child. How many parents actually spend time in jail for assaulting their children? Sure, if they murder them they will, but very rarely for assault.” She stopped, fearing that her emotions would get too much for her. “In my opinion, where children are concerned, it should be one strike and you’re out. No second chances.” She stopped to get her breathing back under control.

Jo asked, “But what would you say to the fact that the majority of parents are probably affected by drugs and alcohol when they do it?”

“Yes, they probably are, but there are two answers to that. In every other area of criminal law the old defence of being under the influence is no longer available. In fact in some cases, like king hits or driving offences, you get a tougher sentence if you’re drunk when you commit the offence. Why is it any different when you’re doing something to a child? It’s because children are still seen as our property and what’s done to them in the private domain is somehow an exception. Wives, fortunately are no longer seen as their husband’s property to do with what they want, but children aren’t yet that fortunate. The second answer to your question is that most people aren’t really that different whether they’re drunk or sober.” She looked at Jo, “When you’re drunk do you stub out cigarettes on your kids?”

Bridget stiffened.

 _Good example_ , Jo thought. “No, of course not. But what’s your solution?”

Mike got up from the table, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get the dessert.” Bridget got up to give him a hand. As they got to the kitchen, Mike raised his eyebrows at Bridget. “You’ve got a bright passionate one there. Wow! They’ll be in there talking for ages. Jo loves nothing better than someone with a brain challenging her. Let’s hide out here and have another wine, unless you’re really interested in the nitty gritty of child protection policy.”

After putting the plates in the dishwasher and getting the dessert prepared, they eventually went back to the table. Franky was leaning forward talking earnestly and Jo was listening intently. Bridget was so relieved that they were getting on. She looked lovingly and proudly at Franky. Mike passed the dessert plates around, “Now, guys, you’re not at work, how about you take it offline and we can enjoy Bridge’s beautiful dessert.” Bridget had made a tiramisu. “Dessert wine?” Once they had their desserts and wine, he said, “Jo, tell them Jimmy’s latest clanger.”

“He told the scripture teacher at school that ‘The bible is a whole lot of boring stories that aren’t even true.’” They all laughed. The rest of the evening progressed well with a lot of laughs particularly about what the children had said or done. Franky thought how wonderful it would be to grow up in a family where your slightest utterance was celebrated.

000000000000000000000000000000000

When they were in the car going home, Franky asked anxiously, “Did that go ok? Was I alright? Not too over the top?”

“Yeah, you were fabulous. Knocked the socks off old Jo Jo. You know most people are too scared to challenge her at all because she can be quite intimidating. I imagine at work she’s surrounded by a whole lot of yes-men. She really loves an argument. So to take it up to her, and know what you’re talking about, was great.”

Franky was relieved. She hoped she hadn’t revealed too much of herself. At one point she’d felt quite emotional but was happy that she hadn’t resorted to using personal experience to bolster her argument. Maybe the legal training was paying off. She felt quite gratified that she had received Jo’s undivided attention and that the Deputy Head of the Department in charge of all this was taking the time to listen to her views. She’d never had that experience before.

“Mike’s a really nice guy isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is, he’s perfect for Jo. They’ve been together since Uni. You were great with the kids.”

“I’m usually not, haven’t had much to do with them, but they were adorable. Mike and Jo are obviously really good parents.”

Yes, thought Bridget, of course they are. Then she remembered that where Franky came from, that wasn’t always a given.

“Did you tell her I was in foster care?”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell her anything about how you got there or any other details.” Bridget felt bad about this but thought it best not to lie. She hoped Franky wouldn’t be angry.

“OK. When you and Mike escaped, the conversation moved onto leaving foster care. She’s working on a project on that at the moment.” Franky was obviously stimulated by the conversation and recounted in some detail the conversation and her views on the topic.

000000000000000000000000

Jo meanwhile grinned to herself while she and Mike finished clearing up the kitchen. Her views on the topic of child protection accorded exactly with Franky’s and always had. She’d been playing devil’s advocate to provoke a reaction and put her through her paces. She’d been impressed by the response. And impressed that she’d argued with her. Most people didn’t. An idea formed.

“So what did you think?” she asked Mike.

“Yeah, I liked her. Smart, funny, brave to take you on. Very young. The kids loved her.”

“I think she’s stared down scarier people than me. Apparently when she was in prison she was top dog for a while.”

“God, is that really a thing? I suppose you’d have to be tough. So what did you think?”

“I don’t know. Definitely smart. I liked her better than I thought I would.”

“Well you were pretty negative.”

“Yeah, but I was hardly unjustified! Isn’t Bridge in love though? I’ve never seen her so bad.”

“She couldn’t take her eyes off her. When we were in the kitchen getting dessert, I could feel she was dying to get back to her, but staying with me just to be polite. She’s very different to her other girlfriends isn’t she?”

“God, I’ll say. Did you hear Franky call her ‘Gidge’? I almost choked on my wine.” They laughed.

“Franky looked to me like she was in love, maybe not as badly, but it could be that we don’t know her as well.”

“Yeah, I think she is in love. Her life experience couldn’t be more different than Bridge’s, though. She’s obviously had personal experience of child protection and spent her teens in foster homes.”

“Oh, I didn’t pick that up.”

“Bridge had mentioned to me she’d been fostered but didn’t give me any details. Her views on child protection were personal. God knows what happened to her, but it wouldn’t have been good.”

“I s’pose she’s with the right person if she’s got problems.”

“I don’t imagine it would be good for the relationship for her to feel like Bridget’s counselling her constantly. Bridge is pretty good at that, she doesn’t make it too obvious, but still…. And then there’s all the jail stuff which from the bits I’ve heard sounds pretty horrific. God, where would you start with someone like that?”

Mike finished wiping the bench down, “I suppose you just take it bit by bit, but it would be hard.”

“Bridge is a psychologist but she’s had such a charmed life, I don’t know if you can ever fully understand.”

“Well we’ve all had pretty charmed lives.”

“Yeah.” Jo, put the tablet in the dishwasher and turned it on. “Bridge’s admitted to me she’s really jealous. That’s not something I’ve noticed about her before. Apparently Franky’s reflex is to flirt with any woman who crosses her path. It’s going to be a bit of a tough ride for her once Franky makes friends. At the moment Bridge has her all to herself.”

“Well she wasn’t flirting with you!”

“No, I think our encounter outside Bridget’s place when she had done the dirty on her put paid to that.”

 

 


	9. Influencing Government policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo trusts Franky with a new job

Franky waited in the reception area of Jo’s work feeling slightly awkward. She had dressed in consultation with Bridget and tried not to look like she’d tried too hard. Grey suit trousers, black boots, a sleeveless green shirt and a jacket.

The day after the dinner with Jo and Mike, Jo had rung Bridget and then asked to talk to Franky. She asked her to be on a committee that was developing a White Paper on providing long term assistance and support for people leaving foster care. “It will probably take about 3 months. There’s a 3 hour meeting once a week. We’ll pay your travel expenses and a small amount for each meeting, I think it’s about $150.” Franky couldn’t be more excited and pleased to be asked.

A woman appeared. “Franky Doyle? I’m Jo McPhee’s assistant, can you come through.”

She was taken to a large corner office with views. Jo was standing next to her desk holding some papers, wearing a suit and looking very different to the last two times Franky had seen her. Her dark hair was neater and she was wearing make-up. She looked quite intimidating in her trappings of office, though as Franky reflected, she was intimidating enough in PJs and uggies. Jo didn’t shake hands with her, just nodded and gave her a brief smile. There was a younger woman sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk. She stood up when Franky came into the room. Jo said, “Franky, this is Kirsty Hamilton, she’s a policy officer in the department and will be coordinating with me and will be running the Committee.” They shook hands. Kirsty was around 30 with freckles, blue eyes, dark hair, wearing very similar clothes to Franky’s. Her smile was warm and friendly.

Jo went to sit down behind her desk, “OK, I’ll leave you to it then. Kirsty will sort out your payment and any other info you might want.” They were being dismissed. Kirsty led Franky to a large conference room. A woman and a man were there already. Kirsty introduced them to Franky. The man, Gary, was from a Non Government Organisation which provided foster care services. The woman, Christine looked like she was in her mid 50s. She was from the association of foster carers. Once they were all introduced they sat down. Kirsty wasn’t pushy but she seemed confident in what she was doing. “There’s tea, coffee and water there. We’ll break at 3:30 for some afternoon tea and then go through till 5. Is everyone happy with meeting on Tuesdays?”

The meeting involved them working out what they wanted to cover over the next three months. At the end Kirsty said, “I have to report to Jo McPhee every 3 meetings about progress and she’s meeting with the Minister in March so that’s our deadline. We’ll need to get things finished before then so you can run the draft past your organisations. We’ve got a big opportunity to change things for the better so the more open we are the better it’s going to be in the long run. Now, would everyone like to come for a drink around the corner, I think we deserve one?” Gary and Christine both had something on, but Franky could. She had arranged to meet Bridget for a drink so texted her where they were going to be.

In the pub both ordered a beer and sat down. Franky took off her jacket and Kirsty tried not to stare at her tattoos. She was very curious about Franky. When Jo had briefed her about her she’d been quite cryptic. “You’ll need to treat her with kid gloves. I won’t go into it, but if you google her you’ll know what I mean. She’s done her time and is a changed person, or so I’ve been assured. Come and see me after three meetings and let me know if she’s pulling her weight. If you don’t want her on the Committee, for any reason, I don’t mind pulling her off. But I think she could add something.”

It had all become clear what Jo was talking about when she googled ‘Franky Doyle’. She was pleasantly surprised on meeting Franky that she seemed like a normal person and not some violent psychopath. They chatted about the Committee and the other members. Franky was happy to meet someone who seemed different to the law students she was in classes with.

“So how do you get to be a policy officer at the Department?” Franky asked.

“Luck I think. I have a Social Work degree; that probably helps particularly since the boss has one. Even though McFart is only the deputy Director General she’s the one who calls all the shots.”

Franky spluttered into her beer, “McFart?”

“Yeah, McPhee, McFart that’s her nickname, bit juvenile isn’t it? So, how did you get on the committee? How does she know you?”

“She’s my girlfriend’s best friend.”

Kirsty paled, then went red. “Oh shit.” Her career flashed before her eyes.

Franky grinned, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. It’s not as if she’s _my_ best friend. I’d only really met her once before today.” She sipped her beer, still grinning at the nickname. “She’s pretty fucken scary isn’t she?”

Kirsty relaxed slightly, she believed Franky, and she didn’t look like a dobber. Besides, she’d been in prison and she’d heard that being a grass was certain death. “I’ll say,” she said dryly, “Try her being your boss, actually your boss’s boss.”

Franky laughed. She had a point. Kirsty had a pile of questions to ask but decided against it. She wondered about the girlfriend who just then appeared, as if on cue.

“Hey Gidge,” said Franky affectionately as she saw Bridget standing next to her. She kissed her on the lips, “This is Kirsty. She’s in charge of the Committee I’m on.” They shook hands.

Bridget asked, “Can I get you both another drink?”

Kirsty thought this might be the time to exit; drinks with Jo McPhee’s best friend wasn’t what she had in mind for the evening. She finished her drink, “No thanks, I’ve got to go.”

Bridget looked at Franky after she left. “She seemed nice. Is she a dyke?”

“I don’t know! We were talking about the Committee. We hadn’t quite got around to talking about sexual orientation.” Franky was annoyed, Bridget’s jealousy was so obvious. She knew it came from loving her but it could be a bit much. Bridget seemed to think that she’d race off with every woman who crossed her path, gay or straight.

“She looked like a dyke.”

“Jesus Bridget, she could be married to a bearded bricklayer with 3 kids for all I know!”

Bridget touched her arm, “Sorry babe.” She really did need to work on this. She felt like she was being assailed by threats on all corners. Maybe it was totally irrational, but it felt so real.

“Gidge, you’ve got to trust me. I’m not going off with anyone else.” She tried to control her exasperation. “I do have to make some friends, I’ve got absolutely none at the moment. You’re going to have to cope with that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I suppose I just feel that everyone who sees you will want you. Let’s not let it spoil the night. I’ve booked a really nice restaurant around the corner to celebrate.”

Franky felt her grumpiness fall away, “Celebrate what?”

“Well, you getting a job that will influence government policy. And we’ve been together for 4 months. That’s worth celebrating.”

Franky smiled, “Sounds good, I’m hungry, let’s go.”


	10. In control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky learns that not always being in control has its advantages

“Now, I want you tonight, so go and get naked and wait on the bed for me, lights dimmed."

Wow, that sounded hot. Franky left the room and did as she was told. She lay on the bed, naked, waiting. After 10 minutes she started to get impatient. Where was Bridget? She listened. She thought she could hear talking. Don’t say she’s on the phone! She went downstairs. She could hear Bridget’s voice. It sounded like she was on the phone to her mother. She stood in front of her, naked, and mouthed _hurry up_! Bridget gave her a stern look and pointed upstairs. She then continued her conversation like she had all the time in the world. _Bit bloody annoying_ , thought Franky but she went back upstairs.

When Bridget arrived in the bedroom Franky was sprawled on her back with her hands behind her head, legs apart, owning the bed. She watched Bridget come into the room with a grin, resisting the impulse to say, 'you took your time.'  

"Lie on your front with your arms and legs spread” was Bridget's order as she went past her to the en suite. Franky did as she was told. Bridget emerged a short time later in her bra and pants. She knelt on the bed next to her and ran her hands over Franky's body then in a quick move tied one of Franky's hands to a Velcro handcuff that she pulled from under the bed head. Franky tensed, she tried to turn over but Bridget managed to put her knee on the other arm and get the other hand tied as well. Franky pulled against the restraints. "Hey!"

Bridget breathed into her ear, "Don't worry, babe, I'm not going to hurt you. Relax. I’m only tying you down because I don't trust you to do what you're told." Franky pulled again, but the cuffs held fast. "You're not to speak unless it's to groan or to beg me to let you come."

"Well that's not going to happen, I don't beg."

"Oh, don't you? Now be quiet."

Bridget sat back and admired the beautiful body stretched out in front of her, entirely at her mercy. "God, this is going to be fun." She could sense Franky's disquiet. This was clearly not a position she was comfortable in.

She rested her hand on Franky's buttocks, "Now, what did I say about you having to trust me?" She straddled her back and started by massaging her shoulders, releasing some of the tension. Moving down her back, her expert hands stroked muscles until she could feel her girlfriend relax. Franky's breathing quietened. Bridget's hands moved down to her buttocks; she stroked and massaged them and the tops of her thighs until she could hear Franky's breathing change. She then left trails of kisses down her back and rubbed her hands over her breasts. She then dipped her hands into her folds and brushed her clit. Franky's hips rose to give her access, but she moved her hand away. Franky stifled a groan. Bridget put her right hand between her legs and with her fingers on her clit and the base of her palm pressed against her, lifted her hips up. Franky moved her knees up so her arse was slightly in the air. Bridget put her face down and blew hot air on Franky's clit which elicited a squirm. "Stay as you are."

She reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a vibrator. She turned it on and smiled as she saw Franky twitch around to see what she had. She put it very gently against her clit and then moved it to her opening. Franky groaned again. She tried to move her hips against it but Bridget moved it away. "Stay still." She then kept it up, putting it against Franky, then moving it away. Putting it half into her then drawing it out. Franky was getting wetter and wetter. "Looks like we won't need any lube." Bridget grinned.

Franky grunted. Bridget continued teasing.

"God Gidge, please."

"Please what?"

"Keep going."

"Do you want me to put this inside you?"

"Gidge!" This was louder. "Now."

Bridget drew it out again, turned it on and let it buzz against her clit.

"You're going to have to beg me otherwise this could go on all night. I think you'd be a mess if that happened."

There was silence as Franky writhed, trying to push her clit harder against the dildo. Bridget moved it away again.

"Ok, please, I'm begging you."

Bridget smiled. She knelt next to her and put her left arm around her body and slowly slid the dildo in. "Oh, is that what you wanted? You should have said." She turned it on, then steadily moved it in and out until Franky started moaning. She found exactly the angle that Franky liked and increased the tempo. Franky felt the soles of her feet tingling, she could feel the orgasm building along her spine, the back of her head prickled, her sight left her and she came with a deep groan. She slumped on the bed and Bridget drew the dildo out and released her hands. "Fuck that was amazing." She panted. "I think I saw stars." She pulled Bridget to her. "I'm going to get you back for that!"

“See, good things happen when you obey me. I thought you said you were a dominatrix? You were tied up and begging, looks like you’re a bit of a poor one to me.”

Franky growled and made a grab for her.

Bridget said, "No, I haven't finished with you. Your poor clit has been neglected, so we better fix that. Lie on your back. Now am I going to have to tie you up again or will you do as you’re told this time?"


	11. Get that chip off your shoulder

It was the third meeting of the Committee. They had made some progress in mapping out the current situation for people leaving foster care. Kirsty was talking. “We need to put in some academic studies, examples of people’s experiences, stats on outcomes. Franky, could you do some research for next week and see if there are any stats on how many people leaving foster care go into the prison system compared to the general population?”

As soon as she saw the look on Franky’s face she realised her mistake. It felt like the air had gone out of the room. Franky glared at her, she had a dangerous expression on her face. She clenched her fists.

“Was that pointed?” she asked, her voice was menacing, her eyes hard.

Kirsty felt flustered, “No, of course not.” She remembered Jo’s caution to her: ‘ _treat her with kid gloves_.’ It wasn’t her fault Franky had been in jail, and she hadn’t asked her to do that research to put her on the spot. She looked at her firmly and said, “OK, if you don’t want to do that, I’ll do it and you can do something else.”

There was an awkward silence around the room. Gary said, “Maybe Franky could look at mental health outcomes?”

The meeting continued without Franky saying anything. She felt a sick feeling in her stomach, realising that she’d made a mistake and overreacted. She stayed at the end of the meeting after Gary and Christine had left. Kirsty was packing up. Franky leant against her table, “I apologise, I overreacted. You obviously hadn’t been pointed about getting me to do that research. I just feel very defensive about having been inside and know that everyone knows. Being in foster care wasn’t the reason I went to jail.”

Franky continued, “I hope this isn’t going to affect our working relationship?” She thought to herself, _Fuck, I hope she doesn’t tell Jo._

Kirsty liked Franky, but had just been given a glimpse of the dangerous woman beneath the charming and well-dressed exterior. She thought to herself, _No, the reason you went to jail was because you threw hot oil in someone’s face._

She’d been to school with girls like Franky. The tough girls from bad families who tried to hide their pain and jealousy through intimidation and violence. If you looked sideways at them you risked a split lip. Every now and again they would descend without warning on a shiny girl from a good family and with a flurry of slaps reduce her to tears. Then they’d slouch off with a grin affecting indifference when really they were terrified. The violence hadn’t made them feel better, just cemented them further down the path that they couldn’t seem to get off.

Kirsty wasn’t scared, she stood up to face her. Franky straightened and stood with her arms crossed. Kirsty said firmly, “Look, I know you’ve got baggage. Most people have. I didn’t have the best start in life either. But you’re in a professional environment, you can’t do what you did. I was certainly not drawing attention to the fact you’d been in prison. You need to get that chip off your shoulder or it will sabotage everything you do.” Franky didn’t say anything. Kirsty continued, “This is a small town, and you need to always be aware of that. People talk. Everyone will know you’ve been inside, you have to act now in a way that people will build up a new impression of you. You’ve been given the opportunity to be on this Committee, make the most of it. It’s a great opportunity for me and I’ve got a degree and have been doing this work for the past 8 or so years. Jo must have seen something in you otherwise she’d never have asked you. I doubt she did it as a favour.”

“OK, I’m sorry.” She felt a bit sore from Kirsty’s words, but acknowledged them all as true.

“I’m going to have to talk to Gary and Christine to check that they’re ok with you staying on the Committee. I’ve got a meeting with Jo McPhee tomorrow to brief her on where we’re up to. She wants me to let her know how you’re going.”

Franky felt chastened. She didn’t want to lose Jo’s good opinion but didn’t want to beg. Kirsty was surprised she had taken her reprimand so well and hadn’t defended herself or stormed out. She did look sorry for what she’d done and her whole demeanour had changed.

Franky travelled home feeling very depressed. She loved working on the Committee and felt it was something she was good at and could positively influence. She really liked working with Kirsty and the others and was desperate to stay on it.

Bridget was cooking dinner when she arrived home. “No drink tonight?” She’d gone for a drink the last two times with Kirsty after the meeting.

“Na.”

After changing out of her work clothes Franky got a beer and sat at the bench looking glum.

Bridget asked, “What’s the matter, babe?”

“Umm, I stuffed up today in the meeting.”

“Oh?” Bridget looked concerned. Franky explained what had happened and the telling off she’d got from Kirsty.

Bridget was worried, the memory of Franky pinning Liz up against the wall with her hands around her throat popped into her mind. “You didn’t stand up or anything?”

“No, I was sitting down, but she obviously felt threatened.” _Oh fuck_ , thought Bridget.

“Now she’s going to tell Jo what happened tomorrow when she meets with her and she’ll probably yank me off the Committee.”

That wasn’t good. “Did she say she’d do that?”

“No, but she’s going to talk to the other Committee members and she’s got a meeting with Jo tomorrow who wants her to report back on me.” Franky felt like crying but just managed to hold it together. Bridget came from behind the bench and cuddled her. She kissed the side of her head and then put her forehead against her. Franky leant against her squeezing her eyes shut.

Bridget said, “It may be fine, I wouldn’t worry until it happens.” She was surprised that Kirsty had it in her to virtually reduce Franky to tears, but clearly whatever she’d said to her had hit the mark. There was nothing she could do; ringing Jo was clearly not advisable and wouldn’t work anyway. They’d just have to wait and see what Kirsty would do.

They ate dinner, with Franky silent and preoccupied. After dinner they sat on the couch and had just started to watch a movie when Franky’s phone rang. It was Kirsty. Franky answered it with a feeling of dread. She tried to make her voice sound cheerful, “Hi Kirsty.”

“I spoke to Gary and Christine. I thought you’d like to know, they’re both happy for you to stay on the Committee. I think what happened today passed right over Christine’s head. She hadn’t known you’d been inside. I don’t think she’s heard of Google.” Franky laughed with relief.

Franky said, “That’s good. And you?”

“Well I’m fine to work with you. It won’t happen again will it?”

“No, it won’t. I’m sorry. Thank you.” She couldn’t help asking, “Are you going to tell Jo?”

Kirsty paused and thought. This did seem important to Franky and now it was sorted it wasn’t as if Jo really needed to know, “OK, no, I won’t.”

Franky breathed out. “Thanks.”

“OK, see you next Tuesday then.” She rang off.

Bridget turned to her, Franky gave her a smile of huge relief and fell into her arms.


	12. Nothing you tell me will make me love you any less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky opens up to Bridget about her past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there are references to child abuse in this chapter.

Franky tended to be the first to wake as she had been used to rising early inside. She'd often get up for a run and be back getting breakfast ready when Bridget emerged. This Saturday morning she decided to wake Bridget up. She watched her sleeping for a while and then started stroking her face. When that didn't work she let her hands trail over Bridget’s body.

As they were lying in each other's arms and discussing what they'd do that weekend, Bridget asked, "What did you used to do on weekends?"

“You mean before I went inside?”

“Yeah, I don't imagine weekends were all that different inside.”

“No, they weren't, lonelier though, for some reason. Before I went inside if I wasn't working I'd basically go out, get trashed and then spend the rest of the weekend recovering. Pretty much the same as most people in their early 20s.”

“Drugs or just alcohol?”

Franky didn't say anything.

“Bloody hell Franky, it's not like I'm going to report you!”

“Mainly grog, but the usual party drugs, dope when I could get it. The odd line. Never injected anything.”

“You didn't use when you were inside?”

“No, didn't touch it at all. I needed to keep my wits about me. Besides, if you needed it you could be exploited.”

“But you dealt?”  


There was silence. Franky got out of bed. She didn't want to have this conversation. She went to the en suite and closed the door. After a while Bridget heard the toilet flush. Franky came out with her robe on and left the bedroom. Bridget could hear her making coffee. She stayed in bed looking at the ceiling. She wasn't sure how she should handle this. Franky could have just said no and Bridget would have left it there. She had no proof other than the rumours she'd heard from the screws.

She wondered if Franky was angry with her or herself or just didn’t want to talk about it. Possibly a combination of all those things. _Think it through, Bridget_. She got out of bed.

When she came into the kitchen Franky plonked her coffee on the bench and then went outside with her tobacco and cigarette papers. Bridget made some toast and then went outside to join Franky who was looking into the distance, smoking.

Bridget said, “I’m not judging, babe, it was just a question. Are you angry with me?”

“I’m not angry with you”, she said, but she sounded angry. “Do you have any idea what I did inside? The things I did to people?”

Bridget didn’t say anything. She really didn’t want to know.

“I’ll give you a little taste. When Bea arrived inside I made her bring drugs in. She ended up swallowing the bag and getting caught.”

“Well, she should have just said no. People don’t need to take the drugs for God’s sake.”

Franky stared at her. Did Bridget really not know what went on? How could she have worked in jails for 20 years and not really know what it was like to be in one?

“She couldn’t say no. I threatened her. She had no choice. She hates drugs.”

It wasn’t as if Bridget was puritanical about drugs, she’d used herself. There was the one very memorable night at the Mardi Gras party in Sydney 10 or so years ago and dope after dinner parties in her 20s and 30s. She’d always got the drugs from friends, never direct from a dealer. That was where she drew the line.

Franky continued, “Then I crushed Jacs’ hand in the gym equipment.” She didn’t feel so bad about this one, she had it coming. “Do you want to hear more? It will take all morning.” Her voice was angry. “I brought really bad drugs in, Liz grassed and Boomer got caught for them and had years added to her sentence.” She felt she was just getting warmed up. She stubbed her cigarette out. _I ordered Boomer to kneecap Simmo. God if I start talking where will it end?_

“Will you just acknowledge that I’ve done really bad things?”

Bridget was quiet as Franky stared at her.

“Babe, nothing you could tell me will make me love you less.” That stopped Franky. Maybe she was right, after all she’d told her that she’d killed Meg Jackson and that hadn’t stopped Bridget from falling in love with her.

Bridget realised that she had been concentrating on the things people had done to Franky; her mother’s abuse, abandonment by her father and foster families, the violence of prison. But part of Franky’s problem was coming to terms with the things she had done to other people. The drug dealing was obviously part of this. Bridget did know that to be top dog there was a level of violence required, even if it wasn’t personally administered. She felt that Franky needed to atone. Atonement. That concept that the Catholics were so good at; confess, atone, and then move on.

“You’ve served your time. You had to do things inside that you wouldn’t normally choose to do.”

“There’s always a choice. Doreen and Liz didn’t choose to do these things. Kim didn’t. I did.”

“OK, so how do we deal with this?”

“Well talking’s not going to help.”

Bridget could see that that may be the case.

“The fact that you feel guilt means that you’re a good person. Look I’m always here if you want to talk. I suppose you need to find a way of atoning. Traditionally you’d find the person you’ve wronged, apologise and make amends, but I suppose that’s not always an option.”

Somehow after this discussion, the dam burst. ‘ _Nothing you could tell me would make me love you any less_.’ Franky started talking to Bridget about things that had happened to her and the things she’d done, not just inside, but in her foster homes and the things her mother had done to her. Bridget listened carefully to everything she was told, sometimes trying to hide her shock and pity. There was nothing really to say; Franky just needed to talk. She never had before. Despite always saying that she didn’t do talking, it helped. This stuff would always be with her but getting it out put it into perspective and made her understand things about herself. She felt less self loathing, but also more distance. She acknowledged that she had certainly inherited some of her mother’s capacity for violence, but she wasn’t like her at all. There was no way she could hurt a child.

Bridget found Franky’s revelations quite a burden. You couldn't be a prison psychologist for 20 years without developing a professional distance and Bridget had done that very successfully. She rarely let a client's case get to her; practised professional distance till she could give lectures on it. But she was out of her depth now. The words on Franky's file were one thing, but hearing her tell the stories, put flesh to them, so to speak, was another. Of course, as a psychologist she’d heard some chilling things that stayed with her, however she did have a professional distance with her clients. She sat in an office, the session lasted 50 minutes, she had a weekly debrief session with her supervisor, she made sure she took time for herself, exercised, wound down. She managed. Now, hearing this sort of thing from someone she loved, without any of the professional distance was becoming very hard. She felt huge anger at Franky’s parents, the system that couldn’t save her and the correctional system that allowed violence to flourish. Of course there was no way she was going to tell Franky this. There was not a lot she could do other than listen and possibly point out things Franky might have missed.

The worst revelations from Franky’s childhood weren’t necessarily the most violent ones but the casual negligence and cruelty which seemed to be a speciality of her mother’s. Being left outside the house for most of the evening because her mother felt like going out and hadn’t bothered to come back after work to let her in. Leaving Franky to do most of the housework and then slapping her if something was missed. Belittling her in front of others. Weeks would go by without Franky saying anything and then something would trigger the memories and she would start talking, sometimes until late at night. Other times Franky would say something in a matter of fact way which she obviously saw as normal but chilled Bridget to the core.

They were driving somewhere and Franky was singing to the radio when she stopped and said, “I never sang along to the radio when I was driving with mum because if she knew I liked a song she’d change the channel.” She then resumed singing, making Bridget’s heart catch in her throat.

Not showing weakness was something that Franky had learnt while living with her mother and honed inside as a matter of survival. She was very good at it. Now she felt that she could show her weakness with Bridget and it wasn’t going to be exploited. She was the weak one in the relationship. Maybe one day, she’d be the one who had to be strong but now she relaxed into her weakness like sinking into a hot bath. She told Bridget all her fears and vulnerabilities and every time she did she felt her strength rising. Felt as if she were sloughing off the dead weight of her past.

Other times she would laugh about things that had happened to her. One day they were discussing broken bones. Bridget said she’d broken the metacarpal bone on her right hand at Uni playing hockey. Franky started laughing and said, “You know that’s the classic punching injury? You didn’t punch someone did you?” She then said, “Mum broke the metacarpal on her right hand. Usually she would lay into me with whatever she could get her hands on but this day she was using her fists. I was 13 and almost as tall as her so I was a bit better able to move away. She’d got me a good one on the cheek bone but I twisted away for the next one and she caught me on my shoulder, just where the bone is. She went down like a sack of shit holding her hand, screaming and swearing. We drove to Emergency with me trying not to laugh as I had to help her drive one handed. We waited for about 2 hours in Emergency. She caught me smiling and whispered, 'Watch it, you little bitch. Just wait till I get you home.' But she was going to be out of action for quite a while because she couldn’t use her right hand. It was just brilliant. A young doctor took me aside while she was getting x rayed and asked me a few questions. By this stage the bruise on my face was showing. She pulled up my file and put two and two together which wasn’t actually that hard, it was just that no-one had ever bothered to do it. She asked me to pull up my top and once she saw the scars from the cigarette burns she left the room. Social Services took me that night and I only saw the bitch once again.”


	13. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky talks recidivism and forgiveness with her Jurisprudence lecturer

Franky’s Jurisprudence lecturer, Professor Sheridan, a pleasant looking man in his mid 50s, was also her tutor. The topic of this tutorial was 'Penal theory.' He started the tutorial by saying. “I’ll give you a few statistics about incarceration in Australia," and turned the white board on where he had the following dot points:

  * Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander adults are 15 times more likely to be imprisoned than non-Indigenous Australians. They are the most imprisoned race in the world.

  * From 2000-2013, the imprisonment rate for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander adults increased 57 per cent while the non-Indigenous rate remained fairly stable.

  * 7% of prisoners are female

  * Female imprisonment rates have doubled in the last decade




He watched the class as they took in the statistics.

“Does anyone have a comment on that last stat I gave you? Female imprisonment rates have doubled in the last decade. It’s a pretty shocking statistic.”

Some smart arse up the back yelled out, “Feminism.”

The lecturer, Vincent, looked at him, and asked seriously, “Tell me why you think that?”

The young man looked embarrassed, “Sorry, that was a joke.”

Vincent continued, “It’s very important, when someone quotes statistics at you to look behind them and really interrogate what they’re trying to say, because they’re often used to prove someone’s point. When you look at that statistic about female imprisonment rates, you’ll see that the great majority of these women are indigenous. There has been an increase of 74 per cent in the past 15 years of Aboriginal women incarcerated. Does anyone have any views on that?”

The class discussed possible reasons for this and then went on to discuss the theories behind imprisonment. Franky needed to use all her anger management techniques to keep her cool. She wished she’d skipped this tutorial, but there was no leaving now and she managed to participate in the discussion without losing her temper. One of the women in the class said, “There’s no point putting anyone in jail. It doesn’t rehabilitate. Anyway, most of them are just victims of the system or innocent.” Franky couldn’t let that pass. “So someone who hurts or kills a child is a victim of the system and shouldn’t be put away?”

“Well, that’s different.”

They then went on to discuss recidivism. The lecturer noted that those prisoners who had been exposed to education and training while inside were much less likely to re-offend. Franky felt self-conscious. She felt that she was an example of this. She hoped she would be, but maybe it was too early to tell.

After the tutorial Franky was the last to leave. Vincent said to her, “I liked your arguments. They’re practical. Have you thought what topic you’d like to do your essay on? It seems you have a good grasp of this one. I’d be happy to help with topics and a reading list if you’d like.”

Franky looked at him without saying anything for a while. She didn’t know whether she wanted to delve further into this topic, it felt a bit personal. “Yes, I’ll think about it. Thanks.”

“It helps being a bit older in this subject and having a bit of life experience. You come to realise when you’re in your later twenties that the system can’t be blamed for everything.”

“Yes, I certainly have life experience, but not in areas that you’d want to be experienced.”

“Oh?” His pleasant face looked friendly and curious.

“I umm…. I’ve been inside. I’m on parole actually.” It wasn’t like her to open up to someone like this but she had really warmed to him.

“Oh.” He paused. “My specialty is criminology, and in particular recidivism. What would you say is the main reason someone doesn’t reoffend?”

“I can’t really speak for other people, but for me it’s having something to aim for, terror of going back inside and the love of a good woman.”

Vincent laughed. “I think that pretty well sums up in a sentence all the academic work on the topic!”

Franky smiled and then thought a bit more, “I know that prison is not seen as a deterrent in academic studies, but it’s a big thing for me.”

“So it’s awful inside?”

“Worse than awful. I was lucky to make it out alive.” They were both silent for a while, then Franky continued, “When you put a whole lot of violent damaged women together in one place, throw in the fact that around half are serious drug addicts, you have a pretty explosive mix.” She continued, “The other thing is this idea that jail is full of innocent people. That’s bullshit. In fact, in most cases most of the people inside have probably not been punished for all they’ve done.”

“Yes, what’s that line in Hamlet? If we were all used according to our deserts, ‘None of us would ‘scape whipping.’” He quoted.

“Yes, exactly. That’s what I’m struggling with at the moment.”

“I think we all struggle with that. Guilt that is. Regret.”

“Yes, but I’m sure the guilt I struggle with is quite a bit different to yours.”

Vincent said nothing, just looked at her in a sympathetic way.

“Sorry, that sounded like I was big noting myself. What I meant is that I have a lot of things I need to atone for. Serious things.”

“So how do you handle that?”

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m trying to work out at the moment. I suppose I have to forgive myself first. If I can’t get forgiveness from the people I hurt.” Or their loved ones as she thought of Meg Jackson and the Korean prisoner who died from the heroin she’d swallowed.

Vincent noted a shadow passing over Franky’s face.

He said, “I suppose that actually feeling guilty is part of atonement. A psychopath doesn’t feel guilt. Living a good life would that be something?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“This is a personal question, please don’t answer it if you don’t want to. But do you feel that having served your term inside wipes your slate clean?”

“So you’re asking does the punishment itself assuage the guilt?”

“Yes.”

“No, not for me, though I think it did for some people. ‘You’ve done your time’ was a common refrain. But it’s not how I feel.”

They were both silent.

“Sorry, I don’t know your name?”

“It’s Franky. Franky Doyle.” She put her hand out and they shook hands. He smiled at her, “Please think about doing an essay on this topic.”

Franky walked towards the door, she smiled at him, “Yes, I will. Thanks, I’ll see you next week.”

After that first conversation Franky and Vincent settled into a routine of going for a coffee together after the tutorial. It was one of the days that Franky had to sign in at the police station as part of her parole conditions. The stimulating conversations she had with Vincent where he valued her opinion were a perfect antidote to the humiliation of having to sign in at the police station where she was treated like the criminal she technically still was.

After their first few coffees their conversations moved from talking about jurisprudence and criminology to the more personal terrain that they had covered in their first conversation. They had got back on to the topic of forgiveness.

“You must have felt revulsion when you saw what I’d done?”

“I don’t know what you did.” Vincent answered.

“You mean you haven’t googled me?”

“No, that would be a bit intrusive wouldn’t it? You’ll tell me if you want to.”

Franky took that in. “But it…what if…” She felt suddenly depressed at the realisation that this action would follow her around for her whole life. The proverbial albatross. What if Vincent wanted nothing to do with her when he found out what she’d done? She didn’t say anything. Vincent looked at her sympathetically. He waited, but the silence grew.

He reached into his bag. “I thought you might like to borrow this book. It covers a few of the things we were talking about.” He handed it to her. It was ‘Forgiveness and Other Acts of Love’ by Stephanie Dowrick.

“Have you heard of her?” Franky hadn’t. “She’s Australian. It’s not a self help book, she’s more a philosopher. Let me know what you think.” It was time for Franky to go and sign in.

As she walked to the police station she thought of the people in her life now who were her supporters. Bridget of course. But there were also people like Vincent, Jo and Kirsty who helped her without seeming to want anything in return. She imagined what it would have been like having people like this all her life. Having parents like Peter and Margaret doing everything in their considerable power to make life wonderful for you. If Vincent had been her father he wouldn’t have left her in the hands of a drunk and violent bitch. What sort of person would she have been? _God, Doyle pull yourself together and stop being such a fucking sook. It is what it is._

She reflected on the fact that Vincent hadn’t googled her– he was forcing her to tell him what she had done. Well she wasn’t ready to tell him yet.


	14. Breaking the cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget and Franky have 'the talk'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all those people out there who manage to break the cycle of abuse.

It was a Sunday morning, cool but still warm enough to sit outside. Franky and Bridget were finishing their coffees after breakfast and chatting. The subject turned, as it had been quite a bit that week, to Franky’s mother,

“It wasn’t all bad you know, she could be quite fun, life of the party type of fun. She had these friends that we’d spend a bit of time with. We’d go to their place for barbies, have picnics at the dam, that sort of thing. They had kids around my age. I think they must have been drinking buddies originally. They were really nice to me. Aunty Jan and Uncle Bob. Problem was, she’d keep drinking once she got home and they would put their kids to bed and curl up in front of the TV with a cup of tea. I don’t know what happened but I can’t remember them being around once Dad left.

“Part of the problem with her was that I never knew what I’d done wrong, she’d just start laying into me. At least when Dad belted me I knew what I’d done wrong and he never lost control.”

“What?” Bridget wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “I thought your Dad left when you were 10?”

“Yeah.”

“And that he protected you from her?”

“Yeah.”

“Belting you? That’s pretty extreme don’t you think? You were basically Audrey’s age. Imagine her being belted.” Or Freya who would be 10. The thought made Bridget’s stomach turn.

Franky shrugged, “Yeah, but Audrey’s good, I was a ratbag of a kid. I probably didn’t deserve all of it but I deserved some of it.” Bridget had a strange look on her face. Franky continued, “I had a different upbringing to you.”

Bridget went into the house. She reappeared a few minutes later and said, “I’m going for a walk.” Before Franky knew it the front door had closed. She wondered what had happened. _I thought we were going to do something this morning? What the fuck just happened? What did I do wrong? What did I say?_ She wandered around the house and then went back into the courtyard and had a hard session on the punching bag. When Bridget returned an hour later she was in the office trying to concentrate on her Jurisprudence essay. Franky went out into the living room. “Why did you just take off?” she said, “I thought we were going to do something this morning?”

“I felt like a walk.”

“Well you could have said, I would have come with you.”

Bridget avoided her eye and got a glass of water.

Franky continued, “What is it? Why have you got the shits? What have I done wrong?”

“I haven’t got the shits.”

“Yes you have.”

Bridget didn’t know where to start. She and Jane never had this conversation, they didn’t need to. Their backgrounds and outlooks were so similar that it was unnecessary. _Not that that helped one iota in the long run,_ thought Bridget. Franky felt her anger rising. She felt insecure. Why was Bridget acting like this? Fuck, what had happened?

They hadn’t discussed having children together since that day at the beach when Franky had said that she wanted to have children with Bridget and would carry them. It was always at the back of Bridget’s mind though. She was deeply in love with Franky but was absolutely non-negotiable when it came to violence. She was not going to allow someone to hit her child (their child?) or anyone else’s for that matter. She’d pretty much allow Franky to do anything, except that.

Bridget said, “Umm. We need to have a talk about something. I know it’s early, but if we were to have children together…” She paused, not sure how she should say this.

Franky looked at her with surprise, “Yes.”

“Well, there is no way you’re going to hit them. I don’t believe in hitting children.”

Franky’s voice rose, “Well neither do I. Who said I was going to fucken well hit them? I’m not my fucking mother! You’ve just assumed-"

Bridget interrupted her, “I didn’t mean hit them, I meant belt them or smack them.”

“I never said I would!” She glared at Bridget.

Bridget tried to stay calm but her heart was pounding. This was very important to her and she wasn’t going to back down. “No, but you implied that you deserved it when you were a child, that it wasn’t over the top. I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to assume that if we had a child who misbehaved then you’d think it was ok to belt them.”

“It’s not my bloody fault I got belted when I was a kid!”

“I’m not saying it was. But you said that you deserved some of it so I took that to mean that you agreed with it.”

“Fuck Bridget, it doesn’t mean I’d do it! You’re just assuming that I’m going to be violent, that I’d hurt a child.” She was starting now to feel more and more upset. She felt unjustly accused. She tried not to cry, “And why did you just piss off, why didn’t you stay and talk about it?” She sat down on the couch, tears stinging her eyes, her throat hurting.

Bridget started to feel that she had jumped to conclusions and hadn’t handled herself at all well. Franky hadn’t said she’d hit a child, Bridget had assumed that she would.

“I’m sorry babe.” Bridget sat down on the couch next to her and put her arm around her. Franky sniffed, tears in her eyes, but not yet spilling over, she said, “I didn’t even know you wanted to have children with me, then you come up with this. We’ve never even discussed it.”

Bridget said, “I’m sorry. I would love to have children with you.” Franky smiled, a huge smile. The tears fell. “Really? Why didn’t you say earlier?”

“Well I’ve been thinking about it, but it’s probably too early. How long have we been together? 6 months?”

“That’s not early.”

Bridget kissed the tears out of her eyes. She said, “I’m sorry babe, I didn’t handle that very well did I? When you talked about being belted by your father all I could think of was someone belting Freya. I just saw red I suppose. I just couldn’t let that happen.”

“So are you the type of parent who thinks saying ‘no’ to a kid will hurt their feelings?”

“No, not at all. I even gave Freya a smack once or twice but I wouldn’t dream of doing more than that.”

“Well, I’ll be guided by your parenting, you’ve got more experience than me. I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to. OK? Promise.” Bridget held her. “Please don’t leave like that without saying what’s wrong. That makes me feel… I don’t know…insecure, I suppose.” She thought some more. “So that was some type of test? If I’d said I did believe in hitting kids then you’d leave me?”

“No, it wasn’t a test. It’s just that…No, I wouldn’t leave you, but I wouldn’t have kids with you. Unless you promised not to.”

Jesus, that was pretty big. She needed to think about that. What if she’d failed the test? She frowned, “What other tests are you going to give me? Have I failed any?”

“Look babe. There aren’t any tests, we can always discuss things and there’ll be a compromise. It’s just on this there’s no compromise.” _And getting back with Erica_ , but she didn’t need to say that. “I’m sorry.” Bridget kissed her, “Can you forgive me? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Franky felt reassured. She sat up and looked at Bridget, “So, I know you said you were too old but why don’t you start trying to get pregnant now? I’m ready.”

“I suppose I may not be too old.”

“No, not too old at all! We can try anyway.” Franky said, “I have thought about it and I don’t want to try until my parole has finished. That is, I don’t want to get pregnant until I’m properly free. I couldn’t risk…” Her voice trailed off.

Bridget shuddered at the thought of a pregnant Franky back at Wentworth. Life never turned out how you expected it. She would never have imagined at 23 when she started work in a jail that she’d be having this conversation 20 years later with a former inmate. “What if I got pregnant and you had to go back inside?” Bridget asked.

“Well, we’d have to take that risk. At least you and the baby would be safe. So I have no idea how it works. What do we do?”

Bridget had a few friends who’d been through the procedure. “I’ll give Shell and Eve a ring and have a chat with them. They each carried the other’s biological child.”

“So that means you want to do it?”

It did make sense and Bridget’s work situation was ideal. With paid maternity leave and long service leave she’d have about a year’s paid leave up her sleeve. After that she could always return to work part time. Being a mother was something she’d always wanted to do.  


“Yeah, I do, but I wouldn’t hold my breath that I’ll get pregnant anyway.”

“Well let’s start on Monday.” Franky had the happiest look on her face that Bridget had ever seen. She scooped Bridget into a huge cuddle. “I’m so happy. Thank you.”

Bridget was too, but her happiness wasn’t quite so unalloyed as Franky’s. She didn’t dare hope that she could conceive, easier to handle the disappointment if it didn’t come off.

Franky was determined, with Bridget’s help, to break the cycle of abuse and disadvantage. Her mother had grown up in children’s homes, her father with a violent alcoholic father. God knows what their parents’ stories were. Then there was her. Well, she was going to stop it dead, right now. Her children would have the sort of upbringing that Bridget had; loving and supportive.


	15. You can’t help who you fall in love with

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky and Bridget go out for drinks to celebrate

It was the Friday evening after Franky and Bridget had decided that Bridget would start IVF to conceive. They’d decided to go out after work to celebrate and met for drinks in the city. As they walked into the bar, arms wrapped around each other, Bridget caught sight of her old friend Fiona, the one they had run into on the beach a few months before. Fi was heading for the bar. “Hello you two. Fuck, you look like you’ve invented love! Franky isn’t it?” she gave a huge smile and kissed both of them. Bridget silently cursed her bad luck. Fiona continued, “I’m just about to order a bottle of Moet, I’m celebrating a big win. Please join us. Cass is over there.” She indicated Cass sitting in the corner at a table.

Bridget started to make an excuse, but Franky spoke over her, “We’d love to.” 

“I’ll see you over there then. I’ll just grab the champers.”

As they walked over to the table Cass was sitting at, Franky held Bridget’s elbow firmly and whispered in her ear, “Now, you were working on something weren’t you?” Bridget looked confused. “I mean, you are working on your jealousy. Here’s a good place to start. Relax and enjoy yourself. It’s an order.” Bridget blushed. This bloody woman could see right through her. She grinned self-consciously, “OK.” They reached the table. Cass stood up and kissed both of them on the cheeks. “How nice to see you. Sit down. I presume Fi’s seen you?”

Just then Fiona and a waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and four glasses. “There’s some food coming.” The waiter opened the bottle and poured out the glasses. All four women lifted them. Fiona looked to each of them. Bridget raised her glass, “Congratulations on your win.” 

Fiona said, “Thanks. Well, here’s to love overcoming all barriers. Amor vincit omnia.” She raised her glass and looked significantly at Bridget and Franky. She obviously now knew their story.

“Yes,” Franky said and sipped the champagne, “here’s to love and to those who make us better people.” She smiled at Bridget.

Fiona raised her glass and an eyebrow at Cass, “Yes, I’ll drink to that.”

A number of tapas plates arrived. Fiona said to the waiter, “May as well grab us another bottle of champers, I don’t think this one will last long.”

“So what was your big win?” Bridget asked.

“Oh, just a case I’d been working on for a few years. Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with the details. Finally finished today and we won.” She sipped her champagne and refilled everyone’s glasses. “So you two look pretty happy?”

“Yeah, we are. Ecstatic.” Franky answered. She put her arm around Bridget.

“Young love. How sweet. How long have you been together now?”

“Six months.”

“So, are you going to have children?”

“Fi!” Cass interjected.

“Well, why shouldn’t I ask them? I would if they were a straight couple. It’s a normal question to ask of a couple of child bearing age. And they’ve been together six months, if they don’t know by now there’s something wrong.”

Franky answered, “True. Yes we would like to have them. There are one or two obstacles though….”

“Like lack of a dick!” Fiona shouted. They all laughed. 

“Yes, well there is that and…” Franky drifted off. She didn’t know that Bridget would want them to know all the ins and outs.

Bridget felt more relaxed, two glasses of Moet tended to have that effect. “Well, I’m going to try first and see how we go. This is my last night out before I stop drinking. If it doesn’t work because of my advanced age then Franky can try in a year or so. Don’t say anything to anyone, I haven’t told my parents, don’t want to get their hopes up.”

Cass raised her glass. “Well, that’s fantastic news. Here’s to you. It’s the most wonderful thing you’ll ever do.”

Fi said, “Well I don’t know about that. Be prepared to say goodbye to free time, money and your sex life. Oh, and your body.”

“Oh Fi!” Cass said, “Just ignore her. When are you going to start IVF?” 

“As soon as I can.”

Cass said, “We were sort of lucky, we didn’t have to go down the IVF route.”

Fiona snorted, “Well only if you think that being shackled to two useless dickheads of ex-husbands is a good thing. Best to do it without that.”

At that point Bridget and Cass excused themselves and went off to the toilet. Fiona and Franky watched them as they left. 

Fiona said, "She's very sexy. The whole package. You are lucky you know."

"Yeah, I know. Very lucky."

"Don't screw it up." Her tone was serious. Franky looked at her, surprised. The outrageous Fiona had gone. She regarded Franky with narrowed and unreadable eyes. "There are a lot of us who would have liked to have had a crack at Bridge, but she was saving herself for better things it seems."

Franky said nothing, slightly confused at Fiona's change of mood. Had there been something more between Fiona and Bridget than what Bridget had let on?

"Don't hurt her. In any way." She emphasised the last three words and her pale blue eyes bored into Franky's. The threat was unmistakeable. 

"I won't." Franky held her gaze, she wasn’t going to be intimidated by this woman.

"Good." Her mood switched back. "I think we need more champagne." She signalled the waiter. Bridget and Cass were weaving their way back to them through the tables. She said in a light, conversational tone, "Oh, and if she were ever to ditch you, I'd be up for a bit of bumper to bumper action." 

Franky gaped, the whole conversation had left her, most unusually, at a loss for words. 

"She hasn't been too outrageous has she?" Cass put her hand on Franky's forearm. 

"Totally." was all Franky could splutter out. 

"So how's your study going?" Cass asked. 

"Good, I feel like I'm a bit more on top of it."

"Who have you got for Jurisprudence?" Fiona had obviously remembered from their first meeting at the beach the subjects Franky was doing. 

"Vincent Sheridan. He’s great.”

Bridget said, “He’s asked Franky to collaborate on a conference paper he’s writing.”

Fiona said, “Wow, that’s good. I didn't have him. You know it's one of the Jurisprudence lecturers who's supposed to be a recruiter for ASIO."

"Really?" Bridget asked. 

"Yes, it's all very Cambridge. Apparently he, whoever he is, gives you a tap on the shoulder and voila, you're our newest spy."

"I thought they just advertised in the paper these days."

"How do we know you weren’t recruited at Uni, Fi?" Bridget laughed.

Cass laughed. "I think if she is, the cover job is a bit full on. Twelve hour days! I think you're supposed to work in a stationery company or something with lots of free time and travel."

"How do you know I'm actually at work? I could be off doing dead drops or whatever spies do."

"Maybe she's a Mata Hari type character! Lots of assignations in hotel rooms." Bridget said and she, Franky and Cass laughed. 

"I don’t know why that’s so funny. I think I’d be a good spy. I can keep a secret. And I think assignations in hotel rooms would be a hell of a lot more fun than commercial litigation!”

At the end of the evening Franky and Bridget walked home. They strolled along arm in arm. 

“That was fun,” Bridget said.

“Yeah. Poor Cass, she seems really sweet. I wouldn’t like to be her though.”

“No, Fi needs someone more of an equal, someone who would challenge her. But maybe Cass is exactly the type of person she does need. It’s obviously been working.’

“How long have they been together?”

“About 4 years. Fi broke up with her husband about 5 years ago.”

“Hard to imagine her with a husband.”

“Yes, poor bastard.”

Franky didn’t want to tell Bridget about the proposition Fiona had made her – it would lead Bridget to believe that her jealousy was founded in fact. But she did want to find out more about their relationship. “While you were in the toilet she basically warned me off hurting you. Threatened me actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Did you really just sleep with her once while you were at Uni? I got the feeling it was something more than that.”

Bridget didn’t say anything for a while. “Well it sort of was. After she left her husband and Jane and I had broken up we kept running into each other at social things. She… I think… well, I know.” Bridget paused.

“Come on, spit it out.”

“Well, it seems she fell in love with me. Unrequited of course, but still pretty painful from what I can gather.”

“Oh, that would explain her reaction. Interesting. How did you find out? Did she tell you?” 

“Yes, she did. I hadn’t picked it up. Hadn’t ever really thought of her in that way after our encounter at Uni. As you know, she is definitely not my type of person. Romantically or close friend-wise. I don’t know if I handled it all that well. Unrequited love is one of those things that seems ridiculous when you’re the subject of it but absolutely excruciating when you’re the one in love. It was probably about six months after that that she and Cass got together.”

“Well she obviously really has a soft spot for you still.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think that feeling ever leaves you. Amazing isn’t it, you really can’t help who you fall in love with can you? It’s not as if Fi would choose to fall in love with me.” 

Or you to fall in love with me, thought Franky.

She said, “Well, I don’t dare hurt you now. I’d have Fiona after me.”

“And Jo.” They both chuckled.

“Yeah – I don’t know which would be worse.”

“Together they’d be pretty intimidating. Quite apart from the physical threat, you’d never work in this town again.”

“Yeah,” Franky mused, “I think Fiona would pack the biggest punch though.” She put her arm around Bridget and pulled her into a kiss. “Well it’s all academic anyway, as I’m not going to hurt you. It does seem a bit unfair though. What if you hurt me? Who’s going to come after you?”

__________________________________________

After their discussion about having children together the relationship entered a new phase. The worry Bridget always had at the back of her mind about Franky getting bored and moving on dissipated. It was still there if you searched deeply enough – no one could be entirely sure of the other person in a relationship - but she felt as sure as she ever had. And happier. She had never, in her very happy life, felt happier. 

Franky had never, in her mostly unhappy life, felt happier. She felt a lightness, not just from the security of the relationship, but from the sloughing off of her past which she had been doing over the last months. She felt as certain as she ever could that this woman wouldn’t abandon her, that they would have children together and make a happy home. 

Their lovemaking reached a new intensity. When she came that evening Bridget cried for the first time since they’d been together. She lay helpless in Franky’s arms the tears of joy slipping out of her eyes. ”You know, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you?”


	16. Bridget's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky organises a lunch out for Bridget's birthday

It was Bridget’s birthday the following Saturday. Franky had booked dinner in a nice restaurant and planned on cooking a special breakfast for her. She thought quite carefully about what else Bridget would like to do and what presents she could buy her. It was a novel experience. She thought with some guilt about the lack of care she’d spent on Kim when it was her birthday inside. She could remember flinging her a Mars Bar one year, but couldn’t remember anything special she had done for her the other year. That was it. She reflected on how casually she had treated her. It now occurred to her that Kim had actually been in love with her. The stupid girl had got herself locked up again to be with her. If that wasn’t love she didn’t know what was. For the first time her thoughts towards Kim softened from those bordering on murderous to regret at how she’d treated her. _Jesus, she thought, toughen up fluffy_ , _the bitch planted drugs on you._

It was as if the care and loving that Bridget showed her had opened something compassionate in her and she wasn’t the ruthless, tough Franky anymore. She found herself more open to feelings, crying in movies, at the news. God. She wouldn’t want to breach her parole and go back inside, she’d be a massive target, blubbing at anything.

She thought Bridget might like a lunch with her and Jo for her birthday, just the three of them. She rang Jo to tee it up. Jo seemed pleasantly surprised and enthusiastic and had a couple of restaurant suggestions.

Franky had booked a trendy new restaurant and they met Jo there. Jo was in a great mood. She seemed delighted to be away from the chaos of Saturday sport with the kids and was a very different person to the authoritative serious person she was at work. Bridget was happy to be having lunch out with her lover and her best friend who seemed now to get on. The waiter poured the wine, Bridget put her hand over her glass.

“Well, happy birthday Bridge.” Jo raised her wine glass to her. She turned to Franky, “Has she told you about the first birthday I spent with her when she turned 18?”

“No,” Franky looked at Bridget who looked self-conscious.

“Jo,” Bridget said warningly.

“Well, it was Bridget’s misfortune to have her birthday in O Week of first year.”

“O week?”

“Orientation Week,” Jo made a quick mental adjustment. She’d forgotten Franky wasn’t from their world, “We spent the week before Uni started at College doing various activities to get to know each other. It mainly involved drinking.”

“We all went to the pub and everyone started shouting Bridge who then had to scull. Well, she was only fresh out of school so you can imagine how that went down. She’s no one pot screamer* but still…Anyway, I eventually dragged her back to College when things got a bit too outrageous and put her to bed. It was pretty messy as you can imagine.”

Franky laughed. Bridget looked a bit annoyed. Franky put her hand over Bridget’s and looked into her eyes, “I would have loved to have known you then.”

“Well, you would –" Jo started but Bridget interrupted her with a look and a tone of voice that Franky hadn’t heard before, “Jo!” Jo stopped with a look of contrition on her face and mouthed “Sorry.”

There was a brief silence until Franky said to Jo, “How are the kids?”

Jo answered, “Exhausting. You know what Jimmy did this morning? Mike and I were having breakfast and he was in the toilet. He started shouting from the toilet, “Come and have a look at my big poo. Come and have a look at my big poo.” Mike shouted back at him, “No, just flush it and wash your hands with soap.” We didn’t realise that he’d gone and got my iPad and taken a photo of it. He then came to the table and showed us the photo!” Franky and Bridget burst into laughter. “Just what you want to see when you’re having brekkie!”

“He is such a classic,” Bridget said, “I hope you’re writing down everything he says.”

“And keeping the photos,” Franky added.

“Yes, at this rate we’re going to have heaps of fodder for his 21st speech. He and Audrey were very jealous that I was going out to lunch with you two. They wanted to come and said they’d be very quiet. Jimmy wants the name of your tattooist, he wants a naked lady on his arm too.”

“Woops, sorry about that.”

Jo took a sip of her wine. “Jimmy has a new friend called Boady, no, not Brodie, Boady, spelt B.O.A.D.Y. You’ll never guess what bumper sticker his parents have on their car.”

Bridget said, “’Fuck off we’re full’?”

Jo and Bridget dissolved in peals of laughter. “How did you guess?”

Once she’d stopped laughing Jo said, “Boady invited Jimmy to his 7th birthday which was, get this, Paintball at a place on 50 acres!”

“You’re joking. What did you do?”

“Well, luckily we were going to be away anyway so I just sent a text to the mother, but obviously we weren’t the only ones who were horrified. Jimmy said to me a few days after the party that they’d had to change the party to the movies ‘as a lot of the mummies rang up Boady’s mum and said they didn’t want their kids to shoot each other.’ Isn’t that classic?”

Bridget said, “You’d wonder what universe they’re in where they think it’s appropriate for a 7 year old’s party?” Franky thought to herself, _well that was probably my universe._

“I dunno,” she said, “I think that would be fun.”

Bridget answered firmly, “Maybe, but not for a 7 year old’s party.”

Jo said, “The demographics at that school are mixed and I really like that, but really that’s a bit extreme. Like the girl who asked Audrey to a party and the invitation had a drawing of a stylised woman with huge boobs on it – looked like one of those women off the side of a panel van. Well Audrey didn’t go to that party!”

Their entrees arrived and the waiter topped up Franky and Jo’s wine.

“How do you find Kirsty?” Jo asked Franky.

“She’s great. Seems really good at what she’s doing. I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity. I’m getting a lot out of it. Thanks.”

“I had to give her a bit of a rev-up on Wednesday when I met with her, it’s all happening a bit slowly for my liking.”

Poor Kirsty, thought Franky, a ‘rev up’ from Jo wouldn’t be pleasant. Bridget resisted the urge to ask Jo more about Kirsty. She said instead, “We ran into Fi and Cass last Friday night and had a really nice time with them. Fi shouted Moet all evening.”

“Yes, she said,” Audrey played netball in the same team as Fi’s daughter. “She looked a little fragile to me when I saw her at netball last Saturday morning.”

“Yes, we left as she was ordering the fourth bottle.”

“So, how did you and Mike manage the whole baby thing?” Franky asked. She’d never thought about the logistics of having a baby before and how you’d care for it and juggle work. With a searing thought she wondered how Doreen coped with the vulnerability of being pregnant inside and the worries of how she would care for the baby after it was born. _I don’t want to look at your fucking ultrasound_. Fuck, she’d been a terrible friend and a worse lover.

“I took the full 12 months off and then Mike took 12 months off while I went back to work full time. He then worked 3 days a week. Then we started all over again with Jimmy. In my opinion it would be pretty bloody awful both working full time. It’s hard enough the way we manage it.”

“Yeah,” Bridget agreed, “particularly in big jobs.”

They discussed babies and pregnancy for a while – not a conversation Franky ever thought she’d be interested in. Jo picked up that Franky was feeling a bit unsure about the whole baby thing. “You just pick it up as you go along. I’d never held a baby until I held Audrey for the first time. The baby looks at you a bit askance for the first few weeks. You can tell they’re thinking, ‘these people have no idea what they’re doing.’ But then you somehow get the hang of it and they start trusting you.”

Franky said, “Yeah, I’ve never had anything to do with babies. I can’t remember holding one.”

“Bridge had had a lot of experience with nephews and nieces before Freya.”

“Yes,” Bridget said, “but that doesn’t really prepare you for having to deal with a crying baby at 2am. Still, you get through it. I don’t know how people cope with those babies who cry for the first 6 months of their lives.”

The main meals arrived.

“So Jo, tell me some more stories about Gidge,” Jo looked sideways at Bridget, “that she wants me to hear.” Jo and Bridget laughed.

“OK, where do I start?”

“What about some travel ones?”

“Maybe I need to have a separate meeting with Bridg and we can draw up a list of stories she’ll let me tell you. In that way I won’t get into trouble.”

Bridget rolled her eyes, “Oh Jeez.”

“I presume she wouldn’t want me to tell you the story where she got out of one woman’s bed in London, got on the Chunnel to Paris and was in another woman’s bed that evening.”

Bridget said, “All lies.”

Franky smiled, “Ohh, and you told me I was your first!”

“Well, we lived together in a flat in London when we were about 26 or 27 for a year or so. That was fun.”

Bridget said, “You should have seen it, very shabby in a big old town house in Earls Court. To get the heater to work or hot water or the stove you had to put 50 p pieces into the meter.”

“We were so poor, there were some evenings when we had to decide between a hot dinner and a bath as we only had a 50 p each.”

“We never stooped so low as to share the bathwater though.”

“Or the bath!”

“It was so much fun, there were heaps of other Australians around. We had no money because we were saving for travelling and constantly going out.”

“Yeah,” Bridget said, “It was one of the best times of my life. Made me realise that not having money doesn’t necessarily make you unhappy.”

Jo said, “Yeah, but I think it would pall after a while. You wouldn’t want to do it now.”

Franky asked, “So what work were you doing?”

Bridget said, “I was working as a psychologist for a local council which was great. Jo was working in front line child protection. She and cops would go in and kick people’s doors down and take their kids.”

Jo said, “It wasn’t quite as dramatic as that, but yeah, there was a bit of that. Mostly though it was going in and interviewing people. They had a really good system then, I don’t know what it would be like now. The English are classic, so polite. You’d go into their house to check up on things. The poor people would be living in squalor, ‘Social’ was at the door threatening to take their kids away but they’d always be polite and offer you a cup of tea. In Australia when I got back and did the same job you’d knock on the door and be told to ‘Fuck off.’ When you did get in they’d complain about how hard it was having such a big 3 bedroom house.”

“So what sort of travel did you do?” Franky asked.

“Well, we went skiing for a couple of weeks in Austria with a big group of us. That was fantastic. Bridge and I travelled for 3 months in the middle East.”

“Anne-Sophie and I travelled in Central Asia for a few months. Did trips across to Paris, Prague, that sort of thing.”

Franky thought of what she had been doing at the same age. The lost years of her mid to late 20s.She indulged a quick fantasy of never having gone on that stupid TV program and going to London and working in kitchens instead. Still, she would never have met Bridget.

Jo asked, “So Franky, have you been dancing with Bridge yet?”

Franky nodded.

“Well you’d know what I mean when I say that whenever we hit a nightclub Bridge would leave a trail of very confused and frustrated men in her wake.” Jo looked at Franky to gauge her reaction. She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous of Bridget’s past lovers. Jo felt emboldened to go on. “Though there was that night in Prague when she managed to pick up the most gorgeous Czech woman in a room of gorgeous women.”

Bridget smiled, “Yes, that was memorable. Young Czech women look like a race of super models. They really are among the most beautiful women in the world. Second only to Australian women of course.” She smiled at Franky and then made a mental note never to take her to Prague.

Jo said, “Memorable for you, but not for me. I had to stumble back in the dark to the hostel on my own.”

“So you two have shared a fair bit? How was travelling together?”

“Great. Once you got used to Bridget’s little peculiarities.”

“My peculiarities! Jo wouldn’t get going in the morning until she’d had about 3 coffees. “

“Any arguments?”

“We had a few disagreements,” Jo said, smiling wryly, “but I can’t remember what they were now.”

Bridget said, “No, I can’t either.”

_____________________________

That night Franky’s roughness was right on the edge, so much so that Bridget felt a sliver of fear. The thinking part of her brain dismissed it as she felt 100% trust in Franky and it added to the frisson of the experience. It was like making love with a different person. Though this couldn’t be described as ‘making love.’ It was fucking; hard, hot and heavy. She was pinned to the bed, kissed, teased, hit and bitten until she felt she would go wild with lust. Franky’s eyes were black with desire and glittered in the half light of the bedroom. Bridget’s body felt like a rag doll at Franky’s disposal, any attempts at fighting her off were repelled with ease. She had never been so utterly dominated in her life. Her skin felt like it was a mass of bruises. Franky normally told her how beautiful she was and how much she loved her when they made love. This time the only time she talked was to say, “You’re mine,”, “I own you” and “turn over” as she roughly flipped her on her front. Franky reached into the drawer of the side table and pulled the strap-on out and quickly strapped it on. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to scream.” She lubed up the shaft and flipped Bridget over again onto her back and pushed her legs apart. “Slowly” Bridget managed to get out. It was large, but Franky eased it in gently, pinning her down by the shoulders and watching her face intently. She ground her clit onto it and once Bridget was comfortable with the size, plunged hard until Bridget came, not taking her eyes off her. Once Bridget had recovered, she lay in Franky’s arms.

“Wow, where did that come from?”

Franky shrugged, “Dunno.” _I suppose I feel totally myself with you now. This is me._ “Was it ok?”

“Yeah, bit scary, but I liked it. Well, obviously, you could tell that. Not every time though, I don’t think my body could cope.”

Franky moved down the bed and put her tongue gently on her clit. She looked up at her and grinned, “Ready for the second part of your birthday present?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "One pot screamer" is a great Australian expression which means someone who gets drunk easily. In Victoria a glass of beer is called a 'pot'. In NSW it's called a middy but the expression is used in all states


	17. Deep water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky makes a promise

Often on nice weekends Franky and Bridget would go to the pool. Bridget swam laps, Franky would do a light session in the gym, cool off in the pool then sun herself in the café watching Bridget swim. This Sunday she was sipping her coffee watching Bridget and contemplating what an immense difference one person could make to someone’s life. Without Bridget she could still be inside. Even if she’d managed to get out she would be living in a dodgy half way house trying to scrape together money from her work to get a flat, trying to make friends. God, it would have been so hard. Would she have had the strength to make it?

“Hello Franky.” She looked up. It was Vincent looking different in shorts and a T shirt.

She grinned, “Hey!”

“Have you been doing laps?”

“No, I’ve been in the gym and am just watching my girlfriend do them.”

“Same here, my wife’s in there pounding up and down. Can I get you a coffee, I was just about to order one?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Vincent went to the counter. Franky pulled on her T-shirt. She now felt slightly self-conscious sitting there in her bikini. Vincent came back to the table and sat down. They both looked at the pool. “That’s mine,” Vincent said pointing at a swimmer doing freestyle in the ‘medium’ lane. “That’s mine,” said Franky pointing at Bridget who was standing in the shallow end taking a break.

Their coffees arrived. Vincent asked, “Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, we live a few blocks away. On Napier St.”

“We’re on Holden.”

“Wow, neighbours. Well it’s actually Bridget’s house.” Then she thought, mine too now.

“We’ve been here for 20 years. It’s a great area.”

“Yeah, I think Bridget’s owned the house for about that time. It’s much nicer than the place I was last living in in Melbourne.” She blushed realising what she’d just said. The last place she was living in in Melbourne was a 3.5 by 3 metre room with bars on the windows. She was conscious that she hadn’t yet told Vincent what she’d been in for. “I mean, the place before I went inside.”

Vincent said nothing. He was very curious to meet Bridget. She had got out of the pool and was coming towards the table with a towel round her waist. Her hair was wet and messy, the water ran off her skin and her blue eyes were heightened by the blue of her Speedos. She stood at the table, smiling. Franky felt as if she were seeing her for the first time in all her beauty and goodness. She said proudly, “Vincent, this is Bridget.” Vincent stood up courteously and they shook hands. He said, “Ahh, the ‘good woman.’ Nice to meet you.” 

Bridget said, “Franky has told me about you.” She picked up her bag. “I’ll just go and have a shower. Babe, can you order me brekkie?” She looked at Vincent, “Stay around, I won’t be long.”

She emerged 15 minutes later showered and dressed.

“So what do you do Bridget?”

“I’m a psychologist at Wentworth.”

Before he could take that in Maura, his wife, also arrived at the table from the pool. She was an attractive woman with short grey hair in her mid 50s. Introductions were made. Maura pretended she had heard nothing of Franky. She noted her youth and feline grace. “Maura’s a psychologist as well.” Vincent said to Bridget.

Maura worked in private practice specialising in children. They discussed their neighbourhood. Maura said to Franky, “You know, this is the pool from _Monkey Grip_? Have you read that book or seen the movie?”

Franky had read the book but hadn’t seen the movie.

“Well, the pool in the movie was actually a Sydney pool but they made it like this one complete with the ‘ _Danger Deep Water Aqua Profunda’_ sign.

Bridget said, “I re-watched the movie after Chrissie Amphlett died. It’s really stood the test of time.”

“Yes, it’s excellent. It’s the Melbourne of our Uni days, late 70s. Not that we were as cool as that.”

“Or as drug affected.” Vincent added.

“Wasn’t Noni Hazlehurst fantastic in that? So beautiful.” Bridget said.

“Yes. Have you seen ‘Little Fish’? She plays the Cate Blanchett character’s mother. Remember those scenes where Blanchett’s character is swimming. Great metaphor for trying to get or stay clean. The tiles on the bottom of Australian swimming pools. The sun glinting on the water.”

Bridget said, “Yes, it’s so meditative. I love it. Really helps me sort things out in my head.”

Vincent asked Bridget, “So how long have you been at Wentworth?”

“About a year. I was brought in by the Board to work on their recidivism rates. I’ve read most of your work on the subject for my Masters. It’s great by the way.”

“Thanks, not too ivory tower-ish?”

“No, not at all.”

Maura and Bridget got into a detailed discussion about work and colleagues in common. Franky screwed up her courage. She said to Vincent, “Could we just go for a walk over there for a moment I want to talk to you.” He got up without saying anything. They walked towards the grassed area and Franky stopped. She looked up at him trying to phrase how she was going to tell him. “The reason I went inside was because I threw hot oil in someone’s face.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Who?”

“The presenter on a reality cooking show I was on.”

“Why?”

Franky paused and met his eyes which were neutral. “I don’t think there’s any excuse really regardless of what he’d done.”

He waited.

“He was taunting me about being stupid.” God that sounded weak.

“Obviously he was injured?”

“Yes, third degree burns.”

“What sentence did you get?”

“Six years with a non parole period of 4.”

Meanwhile Maura and Bridget looked over at them. Maura said, “They look deep in conversation. Would you like another coffee?”

“Yes please, a latte.”

Franky shifted on her feet, she felt like she had when she stood before the Judge. Except now she felt genuine remorse, not just the type that her Barrister told her to express.

“Have you apologised to him?”

“Through the court, yes.”

“But not directly?

“No.”

“Do you know how his injuries are now?”

“No.”

“Well, I would suggest that the thing you need to do now is contact him and sincerely apologise.”

“I don’t think that would help.”

“Wouldn’t it? What if someone who had badly hurt you apologised sincerely? Wouldn’t that make you feel better?”

Franky thought of receiving a letter of apology from her mother. How would that make her feel? Angry probably. Vincent watched her. “Well, have a think about it.” He started walking back to their table. Franky followed slowly behind him trying to compose herself.

As they returned to the table Maura looked curiously at them. One glance at Franky told Bridget all she needed to know. She took the last sip of her coffee and stood up. “Well, we better get going.” She gathered her bag, smiled at both Vincent and Maura and said, “It was great to meet you both. We’ll probably see you around.”

Maura said, “Yes, we’re here every Sunday morning. Me swimming and Vince tucking into the big brekkie.”

Franky and Bridget left the table and headed for the exit. Maura looked at Vincent and said, “That didn’t look like it went well?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well you look like you’re disgusted and Franky looked like she was trying not to cry.”

“Well, I am disgusted.”

“So, that’s it then? Finished?”

“No, not necessarily, I just have to process it.”

“Well, you better process it pretty bloody quickly because she’s touchy. If you let her go now that’s it.”

Vincent looked at her. He always respected her ability to size up a person in a few minutes.

He got up from the table and walked quickly towards the exit. Bridget and Franky had left the pool, Bridget’s arm draped around Franky’s waist. He called her name. She turned around and stopped. Vincent walked towards her and put his arms around her. Bridget moved away to give them privacy. Franky stood stiffly in his arms but when he didn’t let go, she relaxed and a stifled sob came out of her throat. “I’m sorry. Yes, I will. I promise." He held her firmly, not saying anything. She sobbed out her sorrow and remorse on his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would highly recommend both Monkey Grip, the book <https://www.penguin.com.au/products/9780143202714/monkey-grip-popular-penguins> and the movie <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084350/> . It's a very evocative rendering of Melbourne of the late 70s.
> 
> Chrissie Amphlett was an Australian rock icon whose music featured in Monkey Grip. Have a look at this clip of her singing one of her more well known songs, Pleasure and Pain <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5boYiMktOvs>
> 
> The Cate Blanchett movie, Little Fish, is about heroin addicts (past and present) in Cabramatta, Sydney. Sounds grim but it's fantastic. <http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1157387-little_fish/>


	18. Taming the green eyed monster

She moved from room to room, picking things up, putting them down, forgetting what she was there for. Her skin prickled. She made a cup of tea, turned the TV on, sat on the couch, got up again, found her phone, checked her messages. None there except for the one from Franky an hour ago. "Going on to dinner. Will probly be late. Love ya." Oh God, Bridget, get it together! She'd never felt this jealousy before with any of her lovers. Secure people didn't feel this, her psychologist's brain told herself. You're a secure person, where is this coming from? Curious that at her age she was discovering something new about herself. Something unexpected and unwelcome. Unedifying. I'm a jealous person. No, rephrase that: I am jealous of anyone who is near Franky. No correction, I am jealous of any woman who is near Franky. She sat down on the couch again and breathed deeply, evenly with eyes closed. Let's think this through. Why are you feeling this? Did I feel like this before Franky went off with Erica? Yes, sort of, but there wasn't a lot of time. I felt it when I first saw Kim Chang give Franky a hug in the admissions area. Jesus, woman, what is wrong with you? If I don't get this under control it will drive a wedge between us. She practised her deep breathing. In out, in out. That felt better. Franky loves you, wants to have babies with you, has chosen you over Erica, over everyone. What's she doing now? Who’s she with? What's she saying, where is she? She put her headphones on and opened the mindfulness meditation app on her phone, sank back on the couch with her eyes closed and listened.

Meanwhile Franky, Kirsty and her friend Ingrid had finished dinner and were walking to the club where Kirsty’s girlfriend was playing guitar in the band. The night had started with drinks after the Committee meeting at the usual pub where Ingrid, a solicitor at the Department, and a friend of Kirsty’s, had joined them. Ingrid was a woman in her late 30s who didn’t conceal her curiosity about Franky. Over a few beers she’d asked a number of searching questions and had discovered quite a lot about her. She was openly fascinated about Franky’s connection with her boss. She’d relayed quite a detailed story about a run in she’d recently had with Jo and how unfairly she felt she’d been treated.

“Really, so you know her socially? How exactly? Your girlfriend’s best friend? You’re joking? Your girlfriend’s best friend?”

“Ingrid.” Kirsty interjected with a warning frown.

Ingrid wasn’t deterred, “So you’ve been to her place? Socially?”

“Yes.” Franky grinned seeing the thoughts cross her mind. “What’s so amazing, the fact that I’ve got a girlfriend or that Jo has friends?”

Ingrid looked at her appraisingly and chuckled, “I’m sure you’ve always had a girlfriend. No, that McFart has friends. She must be a bundle of laughs.”

Franky didn’t want to give much away but said, “She’s a very good friend to my girlfriend and actually, she’s quite good fun.” It sounded prim in her ears.

Bridget was wide awake when Franky got into bed at about one am, though she pretended to be asleep. Franky reeked of beer and cigarettes. _I thought she was trying to give up smoking?_

Franky put her arm over her and Bridget turned over, "Hey babe," she murmured, "Did you have a good night?"

"Yeah, too much beer though."

Bridget kissed her and then rolled over, "Night babe, love you."

Franky was wide awake and lay on her back looking at the ceiling. This was the first time she'd gone out so late without Bridget and was surprised she wasn't getting the third degree. She felt relieved, maybe Bridget was overcoming her jealousy? Time would tell she supposed.

They both had work the next day. At breakfast Bridget asked about the night.

"We met up with a friend of Kirsty's who's a solicitor at the department. After dinner we went and heard Kirsty's girlfriend's band."

_Knew it_ , thought Bridget. She tried to keep her expression neutral and stopped herself asking the questions she wanted to.

"Oh right, what type of music?"

"I don't know what you call it. Rock blues, I suppose. Good for dancing though."

Bridget had a mental image of Franky dancing provocatively with Kirsty. She closed her eyes and try to dismiss it.

"What was the friend like?"

"Yeah, nice, a bit intense though. She couldn't believe I knew Jo. Kept asking me heaps of questions. I don’t think Jo is her favourite person."

She could see a thought forming in Bridget's mind. "Don't worry, I didn't give any secrets about Jo away, not that I know any. I kept it professional."

"Yeah, of course."

And that was that. Bridget left for work feeling proud of herself, and Franky relieved that they seem to have gone beyond the jealousy, though she wondered to what extent Bridget was concealing it. She had felt unsure about Bridget’s reaction and didn’t want a fight so was very relieved that there hadn’t been one. She didn’t know whether to raise it with her, but thought it better to just let sleeping dogs lie.

That evening Bridget said nothing more about Franky’s night out. Franky was cooking dinner and she was sitting on the bench sipping a water and watching her, “So how did you become such a good cook?”

“Mum.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she always had a vege garden wherever we lived. I think it was the one thing that calmed her. We always had fresh veges and she cooked good simple food. She wasn’t one of those parents who feed shit to their kids.” One of the few good things she could say about her really. “She learnt how to grow them when she was in her children’s home. She only ever said one or two things about it, and that was one of them.”

Bridget shuddered, “Jesus – she grew up in a children’s home? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, thought I’d told you. From when she was about 3.” She paused, “Still, it’s no excuse.”

“No.” Not an excuse, but some way towards understanding her.

While they were eating dinner Franky said apropos of nothing, “Professionally and personally! What did you mean by that?”

“What?”

“When you stopped me throttling Liz you said you were finished with me ‘professionally and personally. We’re done.’ Where did that come from? Professionally _and_ personally? You were my counsellor!”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It just popped out. You can imagine I was pretty unsettled after that little encounter. I kicked myself for days. I was so pissed off with myself on so many different levels. I had revealed I had personal feelings which I hadn’t up till then acknowledged even to myself. I was really disappointed to see you trying to strangle her – that’s what triggered it. The ‘we’re done.’ God, so unprofessional. I should have excused myself from counselling you there and then.”

“You know why I was doing it?”

“No, I remember she was drunk though.”

“She’d started saying that I had killed Jackson. I had to shut her up. I had my hand over her mouth to stop her talking. Admittedly there was also a hand on her throat.”

“We do need to think about what we’re going to say when people ask how we got together. When we met Vincent I could see him starting to put two and two together. I know it’s lying but I can’t have people knowing that I counselled you while you were inside. Even if the Psych Board doesn’t do anything it would be terrible for my reputation.”

“We’ll just say we met in prison not that you counselled me. Who would know?”

“I don’t know. But it speaks for itself really. _How did you two meet? Well Franky was a prisoner and I’m a psychologist at that prison_. How else would we have met other than through counselling? Hardly hanging around the exercise yard!”

“Well we sort of did. You started flirting with me in the weights area. Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking me out.”

Bridget smiled at the memory of that feeling. God, she was in deep before she knew where she was. “Be serious. It’s worrying me. We’ve really only met my friends and family and they accept my version of events – they’re not going to think I took advantage of you.” She remembered Erica’s question, “Tell me, how many prisoners have you had relationships with?”

“I suppose we could say I was in group sessions with you and then I stopped going when I realised I had feelings. Yours took longer to develop.”

“Yeah, maybe.” It sounded pretty unconvincing to Bridget but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it and there was no alternative for them apart from separating and that wasn't going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was surprised when I did some research into psychologist's relationships with ex-patients that the rule in Australia is that they must not start a relationship with a former patient for two years after they last counselled them. There are also quite a few recent examples of female prison psychologists who have been struck for having relationships with former clients. http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/psychologist-struck-off-for-affair/2007/09/10/1189276633569.html and http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/prison-psychologist-struck-off-for-affair-with-skaf-gang-rapist-20150531-ghddx3.html 
> 
> It would be a very different story if Franky and Bridget had to wait two years before they could start a relationship. Still, I suppose that's the wonderful thing about fiction, we can take poetic licence. I don't think any of us could stand waiting for two years.


	19. Work in progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky does something heroic and then something stupid

Franky didn’t want to see Vincent until she’d written to her victim. _Her_ victim – it sounded oddly proprietorial. She didn’t go to her jurisprudence tutorial or the pool on Sunday. At her weekly parole meeting she'd discussed it with her parole officer, Julie. She hadn't been aware, but there was a process you had to go through. You couldn't just rock up to someone and apologise. The parole department had to send a letter to the victim to see if he consented to a letter of apology from her. Julie had arranged this and a response came back that he was prepared to receive an apology. Now she had to write it. It had to sound sincere. She had found it surprisingly difficult to write, but after a few days wrestling with it, had managed.

The Sunday after it was done, she and Bridget went to the pool. When she arrived at the café Vincent was already there having a coffee. He stood up when she got to his table and looked very happy to see her. She went and ordered a coffee and then sat down.

“I’ve written the letter.” She announced almost as soon as she’d sat down.

“Good. Did it make you feel better?”

“No, not really. Relieved I’d done it though. I don’t imagine I’ll hear back from him. If it were me I doubt I’d respond.”

They sat watching the pool for a while and not talking. After a while Bridget and Maura joined them and they all chatted. The subject turned to politics. Franky tuned out and watched the water. In the midst of a discussion about the merits of the new Prime Minister Franky vaulted over the fence between the cafe and the babies' pool. She ran straight to the edge and reached down and yanked what looked to be a one year old baby who was face down in the water up by his rash vest. She held him up in front of her and he spluttered, coughed and then burst into screams. A woman was standing nearby with her back to the pool on the phone. Once she heard his screams she turned around and raced over to Franky who handed the crying child to her. Bridget, Vincent and Maura couldn't hear what was being said but the mother seemed to be thanking Franky. Vincent and Maura looked at each other. Maura raised her eyebrows at Vincent and murmured, “Are you still not sure?”

Franky then leant in close to the woman, put her hand on her elbow and whispered something in her ear. The woman reared back. Franky headed back to their table.

Maura said, “Wow, well done. That was impressive.”

Franky didn’t say anything. Her breathing was heightened. Bridget put a hand on her forearm.

Vincent said, “You were quick. That was amazing. Well done. You saved his life.”

“Stupid mother shouldn’t have taken her eyes off him.”

Maura said, “Yes, but it can only take a few seconds for them to drown. And the problem is, they don’t make a sound.”

Bridget said, “That’s not the first baby Franky’s saved.”

Maura and Vincent’s eyes were on her. She gave a quick description of Franky and Bea going into the burning prison and saving Doreen’s baby. Both looked seriously impressed. 

"Anyone would have done it," Franky said gruffly. 

After they had finished breakfast and were walking back home from the pool, Bridget said to Franky,

“You threatened her, didn’t you?”

“Who?”

“You know who. The mother.”

Franky didn’t answer.

“What did you say to her?” Again there was no answer.

Bridget’s voice rose, “Franky, did you threaten her with violence?”

“Jesus, I saved the kid’s life didn’t I, why aren’t you focusing on that.”

“Don’t be….Look, it was amazing that you saw it and was able to react so quickly. But what did you say to her? She looked shocked.”

Franky’s old instincts had kicked in, with the adrenaline running through her body, she’d gripped the mother’s elbow hard and spat in her ear, “You negligent fucking bitch, you don’t deserve to have that kid. I should bloody well hold you under the water, see how you like it.” The stupid bitch had been lucky she hadn’t followed through with her threat. The fear in her eyes showed she knew Franky was capable of it.

“I just told her that she didn’t deserve to have the kid and to keep a better eye out in future.”

They’d reached home. Bridget opened the front door. They dumped their bags in the hall. Bridget turned to Franky frowning. “No you didn’t. You threatened her. Tell me exactly what you said.”

“That’s what I said!” She frowned mutinously and avoided Bridget’s eye. “I’m going to do some work.” She headed to the office.

“Franky!” Bridget was close to shouting. Franky hadn’t heard this tone of voice before. She kept walking. “Stay, I want to talk to you.”

She stopped and turned around. Bridget’s face was red and she was clearly having trouble controlling her breathing. Franky had never seen her so angry before.

“You’re lying, I could see what you were doing. Why can’t you admit it?” She took a breath. There was silence. She tried to keep her voice calm but she felt it rising, “What if she put in a complaint to the police? That could fuck up your parole. How do you think I’d feel if you went back inside?”

“The stupid bitch should have looked after her kid. She was on the phone for Christ’s sake while her kid was drowning.”

“This isn’t about her, it’s about you. You can’t react like that. It’s only you who would suffer. She’s not the one who’d go to jail. What if you’d hit her?”

“Christ, give me some credit! I wasn’t going to hit her.”

“But you did threaten her.”

“Yes, I did. Stupid bitch will think twice about doing it again. Happy now?”

“Christ!” Bridget shouted and slammed both palms down on the bench in anger and frustration.

Franky jumped. Bridget’s blue eyes were blazing and bored into Franky’s. She said very loudly, “Don’t EVER do that again. To anyone, for any reason.” She took a few breaths. Franky said nothing, but she held her gaze.

Bridget continued, though her voice wasn’t quite so loud, “What if you were back inside and I was pregnant and you missed out on all that just because of your stupid fucking temper? Franky, we’ve talked about this, I thought it was behind you. You do this fantastic thing, save a child’s life, then sabotage it by being aggressive.” Her anger spent, she walked over to the couch and sat down to try and compose herself. _Don’t cry, don’t cry_. She said in a small voice, “Don’t you realise how much you mean to me?”

The thought of having to go back inside finally lodged itself in Franky’s brain. Bridget was right, being charged with threatening someone would not go down well with the parole board. She could be back inside. She didn’t want to fuck things up. What a fucking idiot she was; to risk all this just because of some stupid bitch who couldn’t look after her kid properly. She moved over to the couch. “I’m sorry babe. You’re right. It was stupid. I’m sorry.” She put her arms around Bridget. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Bridget was relieved that she had finally, after all that remonstrating, admitted that she was wrong. She wondered why it had taken so long. Why did she act like a 14 year old? She turned to look at her. Franky looked shamefaced, her green eyes troubled. Bridget kissed her on the temple and said, “I love you too much to be without you. I couldn’t bear it if you had to go back inside.”

Franky felt her eyes well up, she wiped them and sniffed. “I couldn’t bear it either. I love you too much. I’m sorry. Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do.”

They held each other. After a while Franky said, “You’re a bit scary when you’re angry.”

Good, Bridget thought. Her hands were sore from whacking the bench. She could feel her blood pressure returning to normal levels. She hadn’t lost her temper since those terrible scenes five years ago when Jane announced she was leaving her. She winced at the memory.

Franky asked, “Did Vince or Maura notice?”

“No, I don’t think so.” They don’t know you like I know you. What was it Maura said to Vincent when it was all happening? Something strange. She hadn’t paid much attention at the time because she was too busy watching Franky.

“When’s your next appointment with Sarah?” Sarah was Franky’s anger management counsellor.

“I don’t have a regular appointment anymore, but I’ll make one.” She’d thought she didn’t need it any more. Clearly that was a mistake.

Bridget didn’t say anything, but Franky knew what she was thinking. _What triggers this anger?_

“I suppose I saw red because she was yapping on the phone and not watching her kid.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re going to have to get some techniques together so you can avoid doing that. That’s not the last time you’ll see something like that happen. You’ll see people shouting at and smacking their kids in the supermarket. You can’t react like that every time.” And what would she do if someone hurt their child?

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why did you lie to me? We need to be honest with each other.”

“I don’t know.”

In that moment, in a piercing revelation, Bridget knew everything about Franky and understood her completely. She saw that Franky’s reflex when accused of something, even when caught red-handed, was to deny everything. Bridget realised that she had developed this as a child to avoid punishment. Plus of course, you never put your hand up for anything in prison. _I can’t expect her to change overnight, she thought. Be patient._ Now she started feeling guilty about shouting at her. She said gently, “Can you try and not do that again. If you’ve done something wrong I’ll get a lot less cross if you admit to it straight away. That’s why I was shouting at you. I shouldn’t have shouted, I’m sorry. It’s not as if I lose my temper that often, I just didn’t know why you were lying and I’m petrified about losing you.” She stroked her back. _It’s not as if I’m going to hurt or punish you. I won’t love you any less._ “We all do the wrong thing from time to time and make mistakes, it’s often how quickly you admit to them and make amends that counts. We’re both going to do things in our marriage that are wrong, we just need to be able to handle it properly when we do.”

Franky was quiet, she took in the word ‘marriage’. Bridget continued, “You need to think about why you did it and then you’ll be better able to avoid doing it again. And I’ll try and avoid shouting at you in future.”

Franky said, “I can’t imagine being without you. I couldn’t bear breaking up. I’ve been through two breakups already and I couldn’t bear three.”

“What do you mean two break-ups?” Bridget thought that Franky hadn’t had any serious relationship before her.

“I mean, when my parents broke up and my first foster family.”

“Oh?”

“You know, it’s not much fun being a child in a house when a marriage breaks up.”

Bridget and Jane, for all her faults, had tried to shield Freya as much as possible from their break-up, but it wasn’t always possible to protect her entirely. Freya was too young to know what exactly was going on but she would have noticed a new house with no Bridget in it.

“What about your first foster family?”

“Well, I was with them for about a year. They were good to me. Everything was going well but then he had an affair. When she found out there was hell to pay. He moved in with his new woman and she didn’t want me anymore. I think taking in a foster child was more his idea than hers. Anyway, she didn’t feel she could handle four children on her own so I was handed back. Understandable really.”

No, not really, Bridget thought.

“It was awful, all the fighting. They were a pretty wild couple even when they were getting on well, but once she found out…well…. it was terrible. I never want my child to go through that.”

"They won't. We won't be breaking up."

"Good, even if I do stupid things like I did today?"

Bridget didn't reply, but pulled her into her a deep kiss.

Franky stood up and pulled on Bridget's wrist. "Come on," she said. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the bedroom, of course."

"Franky, it's only 11 am!"

"Oh, did I miss the memo that said you can't have make up sex at 11 am?"

Bridget laughed. "What about my washing?" she joked.

Franky pulled on her wrist again, "Next you'll be saying you have a headache. Just shut up and come with me!" She turned round and Bridget jumped from the couch onto her back.

As Franky walked to the bedroom piggy backing Bridget, she turned behind to look at her and said seriously, "You didn't answer my question."

"No, I won't leave you, no matter how many stupid things you do."


	20. The good woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: description of child abuse. This is quite a dark chapter, sorry about that, but I included it because I think it shows the development of their relationship and is a continuation of the issues raised in Chapter 12. The first half wrote itself, the second half took a bit of effort.

_“... although the sufferings of children are the worst, being inextinguishable--children themselves seldom have a proper sense of their own tragedy, discounting and keeping hidden the true horrors of their short lives, humbly imagining real calamity to be some prestigious drama of the grown-up world. [p. 13]”  ―_ _Shirley Hazzard_ _The Bay of Noon_

Some days Franky was quiet, preoccupied; her thoughts somewhere else. There was a certain set to her jaw and the punching bag got an extra work out. Bridget learnt to leave her be on these days. She found that attempts to engage her or draw her out didn't work; she'd come back in her own time. On these days Franky didn't want to make love. But she did, after some coaxing, allow Bridget to massage her once they'd gone to bed. Bridget would say nothing, but straddle her and work the knots out of her shoulders until she could feel the tension leaving her body and her breath deepen. Then she'd kiss and cuddle her, tell her she loved her and turn over and leave her to her own thoughts. Those were the nights when the nightmares came.

Often these moods would lift as quickly as they came and she would be back to her cheeky, funny, loving self. One day after one of these moods had lasted longer than usual, they were driving to Bridget's beach house. They'd started talking about school. Bridget had loved school and had told Franky a few stories of things she and her friends had got up to in High School.

Franky said, "I loved primary school. High school was a different story, but primary was great. It was a real haven from the chaos of home. The teachers were really good to me, I suppose they knew things weren't perfect for me at home. I was always near the top of the class and had friends. I loved my teacher. But then, after I was away for 2 or 3 weeks in year 6, it changed. 

"How."

"Well, it felt like I'd be away for ages, my friendship group had changed and I felt like I'd missed a whole lot of work and after that I struggled to keep up. It was never the same again."

"So why did you miss school?"

Franky was quiet for a while. "Long story." She looked out the window.

Bridget waited. When she didn't say anything more, she glanced at her. Her jaw was set and she was staring out of the window.

Bridget let it go and settled into the rhythm of driving. When it seemed as if Franky wouldn't say anything she started speaking, her voice sounded small, different.

"I don't know what I'd done but it was obviously pretty bad as she flogged me with the jug cord. You know those old fashioned jugs where you can take out the cord. They hurt like fucking crazy. She'd never hit me with it before. It went on and on. I screamed myself hoarse, but that didn't help. I pissed myself which didn't stop her either. She obviously realised she’d gone too far because afterwards she ran a bath and helped me into it because I stank of piss." _I'm sure I saw a look of regret and guilt in the bathroom mirror._

"Anyway the next day I got dressed in my uniform for school and she took one look at my legs and said, 'there's no way you're going to school like that.' So I had to stay home until the welts faded. After that it all changed. I stopped loving her. Before that, I always forgave her, thought it was my fault, sought her approval. Not after that. Everything changed. I changed, got tougher. I realised there was no point screaming or crying, no one would help and it didn’t stop the pain. That was the wall I built that you saw.” _And broke down_.

“It was a good lesson for Wentworth. I'd learnt at 11 not to cringe or cry because it didn't help at all. That stood me in good stead."

Bridget felt her vision blur. She clenched her jaw and blinked. She felt a sob rise in her throat. She put the blinker on and turned off the road into a lay by. Franky looked at her with surprise. Once she had stopped the car and put the park brake on she put her head on her hands on the steering wheel and wept. Franky sat frozen in her seat. Bridget had never reacted to any of her stories, apart from showing sympathy. Bridget wept out every horrible story Franky had told her, wept for the child and the woman. Franky moved towards her and put her arms around her.

"I'm sorry,” Bridget managed to croak out. Franky said nothing, just held her. Bridget remembered a session they’d had at Wentworth when she said she’d read about Franky’s childhood in her file and Franky had said something like, “Well, I lived it.” _How fucking pathetic, I’m hearing about her childhood and I can’t cope, she lived it and was a child. How can I support her if I’m such a mess?_ She croaked out, “I’m sorry. You should be the one crying, not me.”

“I think I’ve done crying.” But not remembering. She’d never pieced together that beating and the longer term consequences for her life of that time out of school. Now, by talking to Bridget she was uncovering a lot of memories. Like uncovering a rock and seeing teeming cockroaches everywhere. They invaded her dreams but she felt lighter at each revelation. 

“Move over,” Franky said, “I’ll drive.” They swapped seats and continued the drive without talking. They arrived at the beach house and unpacked. Bridget felt the happy Westfall family snaps that covered the walls mocked her. She felt she’d let Franky down by showing her how much the story affected her. Would it now mean that Franky wouldn’t tell her things to protect her? That was the last thing she wanted. Franky was still preoccupied and quiet but solicitous of Bridget.

They went out for a long walk along the beach. It was cold, grey and windy. They were the only ones on the beach. Neither spoke. Bridget felt depressed, as if Franky’s stories were now hers. She could see the house where Franky had lived, felt how she felt; the fear and pain. The sense of having no safe place. She wanted to excuse her reaction to Franky, explain that she was feeling hormonal. But she wasn’t. The story was bad enough in anyone’s books so she didn’t need to excuse being upset by it.

Franky wasn’t sure how to feel about Bridget’s break down. She’d never told anyone stories from her childhood, so no-one had ever reacted. As a child she’d never had the sense that what happened to her was serious until the authorities removed her. Now, as an adult, she realised that it was. 

That night in bed Bridget didn’t want to make love. All that she could think of was that jug cord. She held Franky in her arms. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Nothing really.”

“Nothing, really?”

Franky chuckled. Bridget waited.

“I don’t want to burden you with any more of my memories. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Yeah, I know that’s what you’re thinking. But it’s not a burden.”

“It sounded like a burden this morning.”

“It was so vivid. I hate the thought of anyone hurting you, and I suppose it just got to me.”

They were quiet for a while, Bridget was gathering her thoughts.

“If someone had hurt me then you’d want to know wouldn’t you? How do you feel when I tell you the stories about Jane leaving me and all the stuff with Freya?”

“Honestly?”  


“Yes.”

“You won’t get angry with me?”

“No.”

“When you tell me about Jane I feel so angry that I want to go to Sydney, find her house and give her a good old fashioned Wentworth style beating that will leave her in hospital for weeks.”

“Oh.”

“That’s my honest answer, you probably don’t like it. Oh, and I’d kidnap Freya and bring her back to you.”

There was silence for a while. Bridget said, “I do feel angry when you tell me things but I suppose the dominant emotion isn’t that, it’s…” she struggled to find the right word. Revulsion, sympathy, pity, impotence, horror?

“It’s pity isn’t it? I hate that.”

“No, more sympathy. But pity and sympathy are similar emotions. Imagine if people had done to me what was done to you. Wouldn’t you feel pity?”

Franky was silent for a while, “Yes, I suppose I would. God, that wouldn’t be a great relationship would it? Two fucked up people. I think one’s enough.” She chuckled mirthlessly.

“You’re not fucked up.”

“Really, you think that?”

“Yeah, you’ve had some bad things happen to you but you’re certainly not fucked up.” There was a pause. “Babe, I knew what I was getting myself in for. I knew more about you than most people would going into a relationship, it’s not often that you read someone’s file from when they’re 12 before you get into a relationship with them.”

Franky didn’t say anything, but thought; she certainly did know almost all my faults...and crimes. And if she didn't know them beforehand, she sure as hell knows them now. Did it matter if Bridget pitied her? Probably not. Jesus, she pitied herself some days. 

Bridget said, "The last thing I want is for you not to tell me stuff to protect me. I want you to tell me everything. I'll tell you everything. Okay?"

Franky hugged her closer, "Yeah, agreed." There were some secrets she would keep though. Everyone had them, some big, some small.

 

That night Franky's sleep was dreamless. She woke early feeling refreshed and got quietly out of bed and went for a run along the beach. It was cold but still and clear. The sun was rising as she ran. She felt totally in harmony with her surroundings, clear headed and strong. She revelled in her youth and fitness. She thought of Bridget still asleep in their bed, warm and soft. She'd probably had a restless nights sleep. Franky felt, for the first time, a surge of protective feeling towards her. She didn't want to hurt her or see others hurt her. She'd hurt her already, both deliberately by her affair with Erica, and unintentionally, by the stories she'd told her. Bridget had listened to her for all those months pretending she had her professional hat on, but that had been an act. Every story must have been like the twisting of a knife.

The deep wellspring of anger that she nurtured against her mother rose to the surface. She hated how that woman's actions of 15 or 20 years ago had consequences all those years later on someone who didn't even know her. A piece of poison that reverberated down the years. She realised how your actions can go on and on forever. Good and bad, but especially the bad. She shivered at the thought of the things that she'd done that would be felt by their recipients for years to come. The past is never the past. 

She clambered over some rocks and looked out to sea. The grey surf pounded onto the rocks, relentlessly, creating caves and rock pools, foaming, being sucked out to sea, then returning, doing it all over again. Something a primary school teacher said a few times came into her mind, 'every action has an equal and opposite reaction.' Human beings can be delicate creatures and can be pushed out of shape, but they can also be resilient. Her childhood had created holes and jagged gaps, but it had also strengthened her. She hadn't been pushed out of shape; now someone loved her, she was loveable. The thought filled her mind with peace. 

For the first time in her life she found herself wondering about her mother's childhood and the reasons why she was the way she was. She was misshapen, angry and violent. Beyond redemption. Things must have been done to her as a child that probably eclipsed what she'd done to Franky. Franky had avoided reading the evidence given to the Royal Commission by people who had been in childrens' homes, but had unintentionally caught one or two things on the news that were horrific. Bridget had mentioned that a lot of her older patients had been in children's homes and alluded to some terrible stories. Had her mother spoken to her father about it in their early days when they'd been happy? Jesus, what did she care? Still, the woman was a human being and for the first time Franky saw her as an adult would. An adult tried to understand another's motivations, the reasons why they did what they did. What she had done was unforgivable, but....

She picked up a rock that was in one of the rock pools and hurled it into the ocean and watched the ripples spread and then get swallowed by the waves. She thought about how Bridget loved her so completely. Almost unconditionally. Franky could act like a child, do stupid things like threaten people, lie, not speak for days and Bridget still loved her. She felt certain that if she snapped one day with someone and ended up back inside Bridget would still be there for her. She wouldn't put up with violence towards herself or their children, or with Franky getting back with Erica, but possibly almost anything else. It gave her a good feeling, a feeling of security and power. She knew she wouldn't abuse the power she had over Bridget. Power wasn't something she'd really ever had before, though she'd kidded herself that she had. 

Franky started walking back to the house. Bridget was probably awake now and dozing. She'd buy some of those excellent croissants from the bakery, squeeze some oranges, make coffee and take her breakfast in bed. She broke off a white star-like flower growing next to the path from the beach. This could go on the tray. She felt like a new Franky was emerging; strong and protective. She didn't feel as weak anymore. Bridget had strengthened her, maybe ceded some of her strength to her. Now it was Franky's turn to be strong. Bridget might be pregnant soon and she'd need to be taken care of. They could both take care of each other.


	21. Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget gets some welcome news and Franky runs into someone from her past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading and for the lovely comments!

Bridget had reduced her work hours to 4 days a week, takings Tuesdays off. She needed some time to herself to stay in shape and get organised. But really, if she was honest with herself, she needed a mental health break. She'd go to a yoga class, sometimes have a swim or meet a friend for lunch. This Tuesday she woke with a slight headache but decided to head off to the pool for a swim and coffee. After doing her laps a bit slower than usual she showered, changed and then ordered a coffee. She sat watching the swimmers and contemplating how different her life was now with Franky and how blissfully happy she was. There were things they'd had to iron out; both of them. She felt she was getting her jealousy under control. It was still there, probably would never leave her, but she was at least able to manage it. She felt Franky had made huge progress in managing her anger and coming to terms with her past. They were communicating with each other better - both of them had improved in that regard. Franky still had some way to go in managing her anger, but Rome wasn't built in a day. Her heart squeezed when she thought of Franky's gentleness and vulnerability. _God I love her. ___

Half way through her coffee she felt her stomach lurch. Yuk! She left the coffee and took a sip of water instead. Her period was three days late, she hadn’t told Franky, there was no point getting her excited. She felt like she had a slight hangover, but of course hadn’t had anything to drink the night before and had been in bed at 10:30 pm. She couldn’t be, could she? She did the calculations. She remembered friends telling her how they had instantly gone off coffee once they were pregnant. Maybe she was? She grabbed her bag and left the pool. _May as well go by the pharmacy._ _It’s probably nothing but…_

At home she watched the lines appear on the pregnancy test. Pregnant! Her heart was pumping. There was still a long way to go between now and delivering a baby but still… Tears came to her eyes. She thought of the new life stirring deep within her, already making its presence felt. She felt a oneness with this microscopic bundle of cells. She called her doctor to get an urgent blood test done. Franky had her last Committee meeting that afternoon and would go out for drinks with Kirsty and the others afterwards. Once she was home that evening Bridget wanted to be able to tell her for sure and in person. She'd get a bottle of good champagne to celebrate. 

________________________

Franky and the other Committee members signed off on the final report to Jo at the end of the meeting, happy with the progress they'd made. They all headed out for a drink to celebrate. As they were waiting to cross at the lights, Franky saw Erica who was also waiting to cross. It was inevitable really that they would run into each other at some stage; the Legal Aid office and the Department of Social Services were quite close to each other. Erica saw Franky and started. She walked over to her. They greeted each other cautiously. Erica said, “Can I speak to you for a moment?” Kirsty looked on curiously. Franky turned to her, "I'll catch you up at the pub."

Erica and Franky stood looking at each other with people rushing home from work all around them. Franky looked at her expectantly, raising her eyebrows: _what was there to say?_

“Could we get a coffee?” Erica asked.

Franky shrugged and then followed her to a café which was close by. They ordered then sat down.

“I met Bridget.”

“Yes, so I heard.”

“She said you were living together.”

“Yes.”

“And that you were serious.”

So Erica and Bridget hadn’t talked about the case when they’d had coffee; her suspicions had been correct. “Yes, very serious.”

“Um, look I just wanted to talk to you. I feel like you left that night with no explanation.”

Franky crossed her arms and leant back in her chair. “I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

“I want to know what you wanted from me which you obviously felt I couldn’t give.”

Their coffees arrived.

Franky was silent for a while and then said, "I don’t think there’s any point talking about this now.”

“Please. I’ve been going over that night in my head since then. And…other things that happened.” Franky said nothing. Erica continued. “I’m sorry about slotting you that time when you were innocent.”

Franky remained silent.

“Is that it? Was that the problem?”

“No, Erica,” Franky said in an exasperated tone of voice. “Didn’t you realise that I was in love with you?”

Erica stared at her.

“I wrote you love letters for God’s sake.”

“Letters?”

“After you left Wentworth, I posted them but they were intercepted. Look, after I got out I realised that we wanted different things. We’ve obviously always had a huge sexual attraction, but I felt more than that. I wanted more than that. You didn’t.”

“I was still confused.”

Franky looked at her pityingly. “You never saw me as just a person, I was beneath you. You saw me as a prisoner. All that ‘Miss Davidson’ crap. I was a person first then a prisoner.”

“But I was the Governor.”

Franky looked scornful.

Erica continued, “I was engaged, I’d never been with a woman.”

“But none of those things would have mattered if you’d loved me.”

“But you were inside, what could we possibly do? You had years to go on your sentence.”

“You could have waited.” Bridget would have, she thought.

They sat silently. Franky wondered whether Erica would ever get it.

Just at that moment Erica thought she was getting it. She needed to understand this… _thing_ they had so she could move on. She wasn’t getting Franky back. Clearly Franky had moved on. She was in a serious relationship with a woman who loved her. Someone worthy.

Her eyes trailed from Franky's lips to her hands. She remembered them on her body. The things she’d done to her and all the other things that they hadn’t had time for. There was a lifetime of masturbatory fantasies there, she thought bitterly.

She had a sudden need to wound her, thought of saying something about Bridget and her and cats and curled up in front of the telly watching Miss Marple’s Murder Mysteries on a Saturday night, but thought better of it. She remembered Franky's hard, flat eyes when she was angry and dreaded them. Back when she held all the power; could withdraw Franky's privileges, move her to another prison, refuse to see her, have her locked up in a dark cell; even then, she was scared of her. Now she felt so desperate she could curl up at Franky’s feet and beg. If she thought she had the tiniest chance she would.

Instead she sighed. “I’m sorry, I think my timing has been right off.”

“Yes, ripeness is all.”

Trust Franky Doyle to be quoting Shakespeare at her. It took her back to their study sessions together, the fun they’d had and all the signs she’d obviously missed. She looked across the table at Franky. The overpowering sexual attraction she felt for her had masked everything else, even the person. Franky was right, she had seen her as a prisoner first and as a person second. Franky had been a prisoner who gave her incredibly strong, unwonted feelings, not a woman she could love, or could love her. _Had _loved her.__

“Thanks Franky, I think I understand now.” She sounded formal, but she needed to get the words out. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I think you’ve been quite a catalyst in my life.” She pulled her wallet out and put some money on the table, stood up, smoothed down her skirt and put her bag over her shoulder. “Can we part friends?”

“Yes.” Franky got up, they walked towards the door together. She said, “I have to go this way.” She pointed.

“OK.” Erica felt like she could drag this moment out forever, “Well goodbye then. Good luck.” She put her hand out to shake hands.

Erica’s eyes looked hollow. Franky ignored her outstretched arm and moved towards her and gently put her arms around her. Erica rested her head on Franky’s shoulder, her eyes closed. She breathed in Franky’s scent. They drew apart.

Franky grinned, “Goodbye Miss Davidson.” Then she was gone, melted into the crowd.

 

It was dark when Franky got home. She stood outside Bridget’s house, her _home_ and watched. The outside light was on, in anticipation of her arrival. The lamps in the front room were lit, casting a golden glow. Bridget was somewhere inside, probably cooking dinner, waiting for her. This was all she had ever wanted. A home, someone to love her. No shouting or anger. No violence. No games. Love. It had taken a long time but she’d found it. She put her key in the lock and went inside.


	22. Postscript

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by a prompt from Surfeit: 'Franky finds out Bridget is pregnant.' It is definitely the last chapter. The new ending is a bit sentimental, but I didn't think anyone would care....Thanks for all the lovely and inspiring comments.

Franky opened the front door and walked into the house. She dumped her bag on the hall table. She could hear Bridget in the kitchen. She walked straight there, fast. Bridget turned around as she heard her walk into the kitchen and looked pleased when Franky caught her in a strong hug. As Bridget opened her mouth to say something Franky kissed her hard and long until she was breathless. The words died on her lips.

“I don’t tell you enough that I love you, do I?” Franky said as she looked at her deep in the eyes.

“I think you say it enough, but I’m happy to hear it more.”

“Well, I love you, so much. More than I love myself.” More almost, than life itself.

Bridget was surprised, she wondered where this came from.

Franky held her at arms length, by the shoulders. She looked at her in her eyes and said, “I ran into Erica this evening and had a coffee with her.”

Bridget couldn’t keep the fear out of her eyes or stop the dread that crept through her body. “Oh?” Oh God. Her heart started hammering.

“She wanted to know why we’d finished. I hadn’t provided any explanation at the time, I’d just walked out.”

“Oh?” Bridget hadn’t asked, didn’t want to know, how their relationship had finished up.

“She wasn’t trying to get me back, she knew that was hopeless, she just wanted to know what happened.” Bridget felt her tension release slightly.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d been in love with her, but I was now in love with you.” She looked searchingly at Bridget. “She knew that anyway, that I was in love with you. She hadn’t realised I’d been in love with her. It had been all lust for her, but maybe not now. I don’t think she’s in the best way.” Bridget agreed silently. She remembered the look on Erica’s face at that coffee months ago when they’d discussed Franky.

Franky continued. “The more I talked to her the more I realised how much I love you, how perfect you are for me, how wonderful you’ve been for me.” Bridget felt her fear dissipate. Had she faced her demons and seen them off? She felt tears in her eyes. Franky kissed them away. They held each other, hard. The kitchen felt like it was the centre of the spinning world to Bridget. She listened to Franky’s breath against her neck and felt a calmness descend on her. Franky drew away and cupped the side of her face gently as she had all that time ago in the library at Wentworth. “This is a great feeling isn’t it? I feel I can conquer the world with you. That I’m safe.”

Bridget couldn’t speak. She had a feeling of elation. She felt finally that Franky was hers, hers alone. But what if Franky had come back home after seeing Erica and called it all off? She marvelled at how precarious her happiness was. Had been. She indulged in the luxury of feeling sympathy for Erica. How must she be feeling tonight? To realise that she'd let Franky Doyle slip through her fingers. 

After she’d collected herself, could speak again she said, “I’ve got something to tell you.” She said, looking at Franky seriously.

Franky frowned, “Yes?”

“I’m pregnant.”

A huge grin broke out on Franky’s face. She picked Bridget up and spun her around the kitchen. “Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant!” she shouted out joyously, “Told you told you told you!”

Bridget laughed with pure joy, but then collected herself. “I’m only 2 and a half weeks, so anything could happen. You know my chances of carrying to full term aren’t incredibly high.”

Franky put her gently down, “Of course they are. You’re fit and healthy and have the body of a 30 year old, you’ll be fine.” I will look after you though, she thought. She placed her hand low over Bridget’s stomach. “Wow, somewhere in there a little person is growing.” Ours. The absolute miracle of new life struck her for the first time.

She'd go out and buy children's books. She remembered her father telling her that as a 3 or 4 year old she'd follow her mother round the house with a couple of tattered Golden Books begging for them to be read to her. It was a story he'd told often, you could almost call it a family legend, had they been a normal family. She couldn't remember either of them reading to her but she did remember owning a couple of those books, so someone must have. They were the type of books you'd buy at a supermarket. Their children would have heaps of books and she'd read to them whenever they wanted. 

After making love that night Bridget lay in Franky's arms. Franky asked, "Are you going to tell anyone before the three month mark?"

"I was thinking of telling Jo and Paul and Greg. What do you think?" Paul and Greg were her brothers. "I don't want to tell mum and dad until I'm 12 or 14 weeks, just in case." This was her last throw of the dice, so she wanted to be sure before seeing her mother's joy. 

"Yeah. Jimmy and Audrey will be happy that I gave you that special cuddle, won't they? Though I imagine they won't approve of us doing it out of order. We should be married first, then have babies."

They both laughed. Bridget said, "Yes, I think Jo and Mike will have to fast track their birds and the bees talk, that is with a modern artificial insemination twist."

"Would you like to get married when the 'gov'men' let's us?" Franky asked.

"Yes, I suppose so, though I already feel like we are married." 

"Yeah, me too."

"Would you like to?" Bridget asked.

"It's not something I've ever thought of, but yeah, I would." She looked at Bridget earnestly, "Will you marry me?"

Bridget laughed and said, "Yes, I'd love to!"

That night Bridget slept the sleep of the just, but Franky spent half the night awake, worrying. She was worrying about Bridget carrying to full term. She'd googled it and knew the odds. She worried about money; how was she going to support them while Bridget was off work? What sort of a parent would she be? Would she lose her temper, revert to old habits? But the main thing she worried about was Bridget's safety in Wentworth. She could easily be a target. Her mind went to all the horrible things that could happen; hostage situations, needles full of Hep C infected blood, being punched in the stomach....

The next morning she woke before Bridget and prepared a lunch box full of healthy snacks for her as well as her lunch, "You're going to get really hungry." At breakfast she raised the question of money. She hasn't realised, but Bridget explained that she would be able to get a whole year at full pay while she was off on maternity leave. She also had some savings (quite significant actually) that she could use if she didn't want to go back to work after the year was up. That calmed Franky's fears about that, but the main fear remained. "I'm worried about you at Wentworth, can you quit now?"

Bridget was surprised. She'd never felt fear in any of the jails she'd worked in. Franky remembered that scene in the education room when she'd first met Bridget and she'd thrown books and chairs around to try and get slotted. Bridget hadn't looked the slightest bit scared. How did she know that Franky wouldn't have hurt her? Franky didn't want to go through all the things that could happen to her, she didn't want to scare her unnecessarily, but really, didn't she realise how dangerous the place was?

Bridget could see how worried she was, "Let's talk about it tonight, OK? I'm late."

"OK," Franky agreed, "but no wandering around the corridors on your own and stay near the panic button when you're in your office. Agreed?" She'd think about her arguments all day.

"OK, agreed."

____________________

Imagine the scene. You are sitting on a beach at Sorrento, Victoria. It's a beautiful sunny day. You notice a young woman in a bikini with unusual tattoos, standing thigh deep in the water. She's holding a baby in her arms. It has on a pink rash vest and hat to protect it from the harsh Australian sun. The woman reaches down every now and then, cups water in her hands and drips it over the baby's feet. The baby chortles. She dips its feet in the water from time to time. You can hear the baby's squeals of delight from where you're sitting. After a while a woman emerges out of the surf and comes towards them, smiling, looking like she has never been happier to see two people. She takes the baby in her arms and cuddles it against her wet body and stands, shoulders touching, with the younger woman and they both look out to sea. You wonder what their story is. Little do you know that it contains the lot; violence, punishment, fear, anger, friendship, heroism, despair, loneliness, jealousy, betrayal, lust, obsession, forgiveness, compassion, redemption and luck. The younger woman says something and the other looks at her with a loving gaze that you recognise even from where you are sitting. You realise that the only thing that really matters in their story is one thing: love. 


End file.
